An Unlikely Pair
by DarkGiggle
Summary: A female Peeta fic! From Fem!Peeta's POV and starts before the 74th Hunger Games. Centers on Peeta and Gale. Take a chance people.
1. Part 1

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

Plot: Please skip to the very end you cheats or take a chance and try this without a heads up first.

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PART 1

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It's tense today at school but since the reaping is in two days I don't expect it to be different. The only ones that are ever excited about it are the Capitol people that invade us around this time of the year. Oh and this ridiculous teacher who brainwashed himself into being a Capitol poster boy.

Discretely I look over to my only friend, Madge Undersee, to see if she is awake for this drivel. Of course she is. Her eyes are bright, she's sitting forward and even looks like she is excitedly taking notes. Liar. I suppress a snort. If she's writing anything it's probably a limerick about Mr. Hauff's incompetence. Maybe I should ask her to read it aloud at lunch. 'RIIING.' Speaking of lunch.

Madge and I go to our usual table and like usual we have to wait to eat until our third member comes. It is unclear how we sort of started sitting with her but Madge likes her, so oh well. Just because Katniss isn't my friend doesn't stop me from nodding to her as she comes over. My nod is returned and she sits. Great, yet another silent meal.

I guess I really shouldn't think badly about the ritual quiet the three of us have; it's not like I go out of my way to talk here. Still the laughter coming from the popular kid's table makes the void all the more noticeable to me. It must be that rejects shouldn't be heard as well as seen. Not that Magde is a reject; she's quiet but awesome. We've been friends since the first day of school. People are just stupid and get so jealous of her because she's the Mayor's daughter. They don't bother to get to know her; they don't bother to find out how sweet she is. Bastards.

Katniss, on the other hand, doesn't let anyone get to know her. Dude, she's like a walking defensive wall. She has a permanent scowl, she barely talks and radiates dislike from her core. Not that she doesn't have reason to be and act tough as nails. If what happened to her happened to me, well… she's got more spine than me but that doesn't make her any easier to deal with. She, Madge and I have been sitting together since we were ten years old and everything I know about her comes from her sister. I think she still secretly hates me for giving her bread that one time. Oh and the day after, when I tried to give her my lunch… Wow, I thought she was going to clock me in my already bruised face! Yeah, lesson learned, don't do nice things for Katniss (Catpiss) Everdeen.

I sigh. Maybe it's just me and she dislikes me like the rest of our class. Maybe she's like everyone else in District 12 that just sort of tolerates me. I really do try to be friendly, I'm usually chatting to people not in our grade but I guess I'm too different. I, Peeta Mellark, am not like I should be, as the witch reminds me everyday. I don't look right, don't act right, don't talk right, I definitely don't dress right and it pisses my mother right off. In fact if Madge hadn't fixed my hair and I didn't take so much after the witch the district community home would actually be home for me. The witch wants a prissy sweet daughter, instead she has me and I'm as close to a boy as I can be without the actual parts.

Swearing, spitting and fighting are routine for me. I love rough housing with my two older brothers. My daily style is made of big pants, baggy shirts, my braid tucked under a cap and my stupid boobs bound down. None of the guys my year can beat me in any sport and if they don't like it enough to start something I kick their asses. Lately I haven't gotten in that kind of fight, they all know to pick me for their team if they want to win.

Nonetheless, this is why I don't have other friends besides Madge. Madge accepts me, she cares for me and when she's not near the brooding stone that is Catpiss, we talk, we laugh, we joke and we visit each other. We've known each other's room just as well as our own for ages. When she is not near the huntress of 12 she is my friend and she acts like it. To say I'm jealous is an understatement, but it's what Madge wants so I don't argue. I will always give her anything she wants because no matter how much I love my brothers she is the person closest to me, she is the one that means most to me.

Just as lunch ends, my best friend passes me a piece of paper. It's her awful limerick. A laugh bursts out at how bad it is. Practice does not make perfect for her. Yet as soon as I start laughing I stop, my laugh is the most feminine thing about me and I hate it. I check around, damn it, too late. People are staring, puzzled until they remember I'm actually a girl. Fuck.

The rest of school goes by without incident. Assuming the rest of the day will be just as uneventful my guard drops as I walk out the exit doors. It's not ten steps before something slams into my back, holds on and damn near makes me face plant into the dirt. Just as I right myself a scream of "PEETA!" goes off in my ear, launching me at least two feet into the air with surprise. The landing is shaky with the extra weight and set to the roaring laughter of my peers. While all this is good for the rest of the school's entertainment I am not amused.

I turn my head to glare at the cling-on attached to my back. "Get Off Rory!"

"I'd love to, care to lend me your hand?" he answers way too happily.

This gets more laughs from the building crowd. An earnest scowl forces him to sheepishly climb down. It's not a far climb for him anymore. He is getting to be as tall as me; I will loath the day when he gets taller than my five foot ten and starts calling me 'shorty' like he promises. "You're 14 now, act more adult."

He chuckles and says, "Fine then, I will. Marry me Peeta."

More laughs from our schoolmates. My face heats in anger. Stupid kid! A scan of the crowd doesn't bring up the one I'm looking for thus I yell, "Hawthorne! Come Save Your Brother Right Now Or I'm Going To Hurt Him!"

Then he is suddenly there, his handsome tall form cutting through the crowd. My face heats more at the sight of him, until I see he isn't alone. As if I didn't have reason enough to be jealous of Catpiss. She and her sweet sister cut through the crowd too, they've come to see what is going on. Damn it, its not like this doesn't happen thrice a month. Arg!

In a gruff voice what comes out is, "Can't you control him?"

Gale Hawthorne, the unhelpful jerk, just shrugs and replies, "Hormones and since he's seen-."

"SHUT UP!" It's a harsh snap but it does no good as every inch of my skin flushes bright red. Damn bastard hasn't brought that up in so long! I glare straight into his gorgeous gray eyes, "You better shut up because I won't feel bad about kicking your ass!"

He looks me over then stands straighter when he sees I mean it. He is visibly debating it. For the past year or so we have been on the edge of a fight, all Rory's fault of course, but we've both wondered who would win. He is bigger, he has reach but I'm sure my body is stronger and we're about the same speed.

Before he can take a step further the decision is taken out of his hands by Prim when she steps between us. One pleading look from her and a pout almost creeps out onto my face, if we continue now it would upset her. It's so not fair! If one person were to be picked as my almost friend it would be Prim but she is so nice to everyone it's hard to tell if she means it. I sigh and look to Rory. "This isn't funny anymore, you're getting older and eventually I will hit you."

The imp just smiles, not believing me worth a damn. I scowl at all of them and march away.

Madge is waiting for me outside of the crowd and we walk without word. I'm still too angry to really talk. It's unbelievable that freaking Hawthorne brought that up. What he was going to say was 'since he's seen you naked.' Not that the whole school doesn't already know but it was two years ago and no one needs reminders.

I blame Hawthorne for the whole mess. Two years back he really started to tomcat around and messed up the status quo with his looks. He pissed off a lot of guys by having a tumble with their girls or their crushes. He's always been tough and more than ready for a fight but his little brothers were not. Anyway some cowardly idiots wanted to get him to back off by bullying Rory. Five 16 year olds against one 12 year old did not make good odds and I've always been about fairness. Damn, I remember it so well.

Start Flashback:

'That's not good,' I think as older Seam boys corner a runt. The soon to be victim looks around for an escape route and it's then that I recognize the squirt. The debate on whether or not to step in is decided with the first punch to the gut they give him. Kid slumps to the ground and it's me in the way before the bastards can move in on him further.

They startle but shake it off with glares. "Out of the way merchant! This doesn't concern you."

"Well who does it concern?" I immediately regret it because now they look damn surprised. My voice gave me away.

"It's that girl Mellark!" Some of the braver ones snort and mock, "Run along girly."

Being a real boy would make life so much easier. "No."

One gets annoyed and tries to shove me. I swing, my fist collides with his wrist hard, it diverts his whole arm and makes him yelp. He retracts and cradles his wrist, "You freaking bitch!"

At least some of them have heard of my reputation since more don't make a move. It's a tense quiet until one of the other boys growls, "This isn't your fight Mellark!"

Over his shoulder is someone approaching that I very much want to see. "You're right this isn't my fight. I don't plan to fight you."

He snarls, "Then what the hell are you doing?"

I smirk, "Stalling you." They get a split second to be puzzled before they turn to the sound of cracking knuckles. It's a thing of beauty to watch Gale Hawthorne fight and cream five other guys. It's the first time I feel something stir in me. When it's over, the five are still down but Hawthorne is a bit of a mess too. The offer to walk them is said before I can think about it.

Hawthorne doesn't know what to make of it or me but his youngest brother comes up then, worried and scared. He starts yapping about going to the healer Everdeen so I just tell him to lead the way. It's a weird procession we make and I get to see Seam, Katniss' house and meet her sister for the first time.

Because Catpiss is gone by the time we arrive, Mrs. Everdeen is treating Hawthorne and his siblings are worriedly watching, it falls to Prim to ask me why I helped. I just shrug and say, "It wasn't a fair fight but it wasn't my fight. Then on the way back, well if they're low enough to pick on a 12 year old they're low enough to try to get you when you're down."

It's Prim that thanks me when I leave and for the next three weeks it's her who is friendly to me in the halls and a few moments after school. It was more for her that I step in for the Hawthorne squirt again. Now the cowards are at least smarter. They know the hunter is gone by this time.

Oh this is a hard fight, five Seam 16s and my one merchant 14-year-old body. We equally get our rears kicked. Madge and Rory have to half-carry me to the Everdeens. I pass out just before their home. When consciousness returns I'm cold, completely naked and being worked on by Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. Prim is tending a wound on the end of my ribs and her mother is stitching me up, right where my thigh starts. A big commotion goes on outside the door before Hawthorne throws it open. Prim shrieks, her mother doesn't notice, I stare in shock and he starts looking me over. He is taking in my wounds; the way his eyes bounced from place to place and how he pauses on my knuckles explains it. Surely he had handled plenty of girls from his fooling around so seeing me like this doesn't faze him. His looking at my naked, beat up 14-year-old body doesn't really bother me either and it probably would have ended here… if not for what happens next. Rory comes in shouting that they are supposed to wait outside and that he-. The little pervert never finishes. He sees me (all of me), stares and then he tries to come closer. I cross my legs, curl up and yell at the both of them to get out. Prim joins in to shoo them out, she looks as scandalized as I feel.

Oh and how does the little perv repay me for coming to his defense? He tells all of his friends he's seen me naked and is going to marry me because I have a huge rack. Of course his friends tell their friends, their brothers and any one who is a gossip so then everyone knows. Lots of boys call Rory a liar and to fight the slander he somehow finds out about me binding my inherited mounds down. It is not until reaping day, when my mother makes me wear a dress and no binding, that he is proven right. The pervert plagues me from that day on.

End Flash Back:

I really am growing to hate him and his brother. Hawthorne is still to blame for all of this and for not controlling Rory. Someday soon the snot will be beaten out of the both of them. I generally don't pick fights or fight kids younger than me but they have it coming.

A tap on my shoulder brings me back from my thoughts. Madge has a worried frown on her. She is about to ask what has me so moody, but I just smile and ask if she has any more limericks.

Part 1 End.

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Plot: Female Peeta and Gale are selected for the Hunger Games. I wanted to have Peeta and Gale go through the games together without having to change the games much so I changed Peeta. Fem!Peeta is a tomboy and as such did not fit in well, so I've changed Peeta's personality and history to suit.

Side Note: I am looking for a Beta for this story. My grammar is all self taught and I daydream too much to always make things clear on paper. I'm not looking for reviews from regular readers, so if you just have a random opinion about my work (good, bad or constructive) please keep it to yourself. I'm a weird writer that does not like reviews (or the effect they have on me) so please don't click that button!


	2. Part 2

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 2

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Tomorrow is the reaping and the tensions are running high, it made school even drearier than normal. I'm still tense from school. The tightness is so bad that the cake in front of me is half way done and I can't relax into it. Normally decorating cakes (yes I know it's girly but just this one thing) soothes away my troubles. I can get lost in drawing, in creating, in concentrating on delicate work and narrow my world down to just one thing. Just one non-life threatening thing. No one ever bothers me during this type of work because the witch approves of it thus she keeps everyone away from me.

Not that there is anyone to distract me right now. Father is in the front, my brothers and the witch are out on delivery thus the bakery is so quiet now. It's rare that I am alone in the back and rarer still that decorating lets me notice. With the tension so high, radiating from every corner of District 12 the emptiness is smothering. I'm just about to put down my piping bag and join my father in the front when a knock sounds at the back door. It's a new speed record set for answering someone, to bad it's this someone.

I'm almost disappointed to see Hawthorne. Damn it. My friendliness could pull a decent twenty-minute conversation from anyone else, just not him or Catpiss. With her there is just a short one-way conversation and him... Well we can't fight here in town, he's from Seam and technically I'm a girl so the peacekeepers would be all over him. Thus we have settled into trading sarcastic remarks when he comes to trade. He is half to blame for this second unfriendly barrier we have because he only started trading with my family in person (instead of sending Catpiss) the day after Rory told everyone about seeing me. My only excuse is the resentment and anger were still fresh and sarcasm seemed like the best weapon at the time. Or it should have been but he is just as good at it. …No. Honestly he is better at it and the smug jerk often walks away from our trades leaving me sputtering in annoyance. I make a face before I can stop myself.

"Oh you're just so eager to see me, ain't you Panty," He says. Already the handsome asshole is smirking.

That wretched, but familiar nickname is thoroughly loathed! I want to punch him for it but the reason he calls me it in the first place is to get a reaction out of me. Instead I lean against the doorframe and flatten my voice. "Yes, I can't picture someone not being excited to see you." The lack of affect in my tone shows my control. Being unaffected will bother him more than my words.

His smirk gets more strained. "While I'd like to find out just how moist- er I mean, excited you are I have trades to get to."

It can't be helped; I flush with anger at his words. He is the only bastard that dares talk to me like this and I dislike him immensely for it. He and his damn brother always have to remind me I'm a girl. If he would please just leave I don't care if he calls this a win. I scowl and spit out, "So what do you have?"

He is almost sunny when he answers now, "I've got four rabbits, wanted to know if your family wants one before I head to Rooba."

My mouth almost waters. The males in my family like squirrel but my mother and I love rabbit; it's an absolute treat for us. A genuine smile breaks out on my face to go with my nod. He must be in a generous mood if he is selling us rabbit.

He takes a step back for some reason but then catches himself and says, "Okay, I'll bring you back one once the butcher is done skinning it."

"They still have fur?" I exclaim. "Please sell it to me whole, I'll pay for the pelt!" I know he could sell it to the fur trader or the tanner but if he did it would be so much more expensive for me to get my hands on real rabbit pelt. He looks at me funny. "Please, I can skin and cure it myself but it's so pricy to buy it."

He raises a dubious eyebrow. "You can skin?" Doubt is dripping from his voice.

Maybe I should be offended but budding excitement blocks it. The possibility of a real pelt is dangling before me. "Of course I can! When we buy Katniss' squirrels I always clean and skin them. I'm good with pelts! All of our winter clothes have squirrel lining inside! Please, please, please sell me the whole rabbit!"

Hawthorne backs up again and it's then that I realize I've invaded his personal space. Oops. Yet he seems to recover himself and tells me it will be pricy still. When he gives me his price my smile fades. Oh, that is more than my parents would be willing to pay. They are perfectly happy with the squirrel fur we get; it's just me that wants rabbit. But I really want this! There has to be some way! Suddenly it comes to me. "Rooba charges you to skin the rabbits well enough for trade right?" He nods. Of course she does, if it was easy to skin well enough for the tanner Hawthorne would do it himself. "What if I skin and clean them for you and you take the difference out of the price of the pelt?"

"How do I know you won't just mangle them?" His words are sharp but his lovely gray orbs look intrigued.

I'm getting excited again, oh this could happen! There isn't a single thing in the district that could stop my smile now. "Just let me show you! I'll buy the smallest rabbit, skin it and clean it now, if it's not good enough I'll owe you money, it'll take a bit but I can pay you off. If it's good enough I'll do the others for half off the pelt, yes?" I plead.

He still seems so reluctant but for some miracle he reaches into his bag and pulls out a smallish rabbit. I take the carcass, clear a space and pull out my special thin curved knife. It is specifically for skinning. It was expensive but I convinced my father that it would be an investment. It took me two years to master it. I get to work quickly and soon have a one-piece skin. I get out a bucket, fill it with water and some cleaners for the fur. A bit of scrubbing gets dirt and blood out of it. Carefully I flatten the pelt, press more fluids out of it, dunk in clean water, repeat the pressing then hang it to dry. Next is back to the rabbit to clean out the insides, inspect the organs and put them in a plastic bag. It's only then I look to Hawthorne hopefully.

He steps into the bakery for the first time ever and looks over my work. My breath stays lodged in my throat as he does. When he nods I start babbling about all the things I could stitch the fur into but the inside of gloves is the best option. Oh that would feel so nice! The other three rabbits are done in short order and I'm so happy I generously offer him the use of three of the bakery's plastic bags. Plastic is clean, handy and rare; it only comes from the Capitol but it will keep everything separated in his game bag. He can return them tomorrow. He is strangely silent when I pay him and shockingly he leaves without further word.

That can't be good. What upset him? Did I somehow do it? It wasn't intentional if I did. I seriously hope not because this great deal should be repeated! I let it go for now with a sigh. My hand goes to the rabbit fur on its own; though damp it feels so soft to the touch. Maybe if only the backs of winter gloves have this fur and the palm side has squirrel I can have enough rabbit fur for my whole family. The gloves would still be warm and soft but then this fur wouldn't wear out to easily. The thought makes me smile all over again.

When my family returns they immediately see the pelt and my brothers tease me for sewing like a girl. They are ignored for such silliness. Sewing fur into clothing lining isn't girlish. It is like skinning and cleaning an animal; it is a useful life skill to have. Since tonight is my turn to cook they really try to bug me about being girly. It does not get to me. Cooking is a life skill and it is one they have too so I don't know why they even attempt to tease me for it. In fact tomorrow and the day after are their turns to cook respectively. Although my siblings maybe older than me they have never been very good at teasing; they are lame like that.

The one good thing about the witch is that she also does see cooking, sewing, skinning and cleaning of any kind as important life skills so she doesn't get her hopes up by me doing them. She does say the fur would be prettier as trim for a coat, on a scarf and other pointless things like that. It is a beautiful light brown color and she is right it would be pretty, but it's for that reason I'm more determined than ever it will go on the inside of gloves where it won't be frivolous.

Frivolous is actually the nice way to describe the witch. I normally use shallow for her and down right superficial when I'm mad. The only thing she takes seriously is the business and everything else is about appearance with her. In one week she can find 60 different ways to mention what her friends and the other merchants think of her and her family. I am exactly the type of daughter she didn't want so she acts horrified every time I'm boyish. I think the rest of District 12 is immune to me by now, even if they don't approve of me.

In truth I think one of the great joys I get in life is by not being what she wants. I can't picture life to be worth much if I were as vapid as her. Or really any of the women I know. To be fair I only know the bedridden Mrs. Undersee and the near lifeless Mrs. Everdeen fairly well and despite their different lives they are just as feminine as my mother. As far as I see it being girly means being too weak to do the things you want. It means you have to be meek, timid, obey all social rules and hold back on enjoying life to the fullest.

My best friend Madge kind of confirms this. In public she is quiet and girly, it's like she fades away from life and people. In private, like with Katniss, Hawthorne or me she is much less girly, occasionally she will laugh so hard she snorts. Katniss also kind of makes my point too. She isn't very feminine and look what it does for her! She is brave enough to go beyond the fence, to hunt wild animals and raise her sister nearly by herself. Yet she isn't very boyish either. I think if she was boyish then she would be loud and upbeat like boys are. Maybe we would even get along then.

I sigh and stop my self from thinking further about that. I can't change her and I think she has enough on her plate anyway. I guess I just really want more friends. I stop myself again. Madge is enough, she has to be enough; her and my brothers, whom I am so close to, are enough. I'm just being greedy and want other people just to accept me. Ugh. I guess I am a bit like my mother; I do so want approval. I'm just not willing to give up who I am for it.

Part 2 End.

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Side Note: (Yes I posted parts 1 & 2 together). I am looking for a Beta for this story. My grammar is all self taught and I daydream too much to always make things clear on paper. I'm not looking for reviews from regular readers, so if you just have a random opinion about my work (good, bad or constructive) please keep it to yourself. I'm a weird writer that does not like reviews (or the effect they have on me) so please don't click that button!


	3. Part 3

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 3

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Everyone is up ridiculously early today, reaping day, but since no one can sleep it seems sensible. Immediately the witch and I get into a big fight, about a dress of course. This is a new low for her. Maybe it's because I'm 16 now and she wants me to date boys. Not that she or anyone in District 12 (excluding the peacekeepers) has anything against homosexuality but she thinks dating a boy will make me have to act girly if just to keep him. It's likely she is right. I don't like girls that way so a girlfriend is out of the question and all the boys… Well if they like other guys they will go for someone male and if they want a girl they will go for someone a hell of a lot more feminine than me. Rory doesn't count, he just wants to touch me not date me. Honestly I see myself never marrying because I can't picture a guy liking me without a major overhaul and I won't change for anybody. Generally I try not to think about my future, my desire for a husband and children as I'm destined for spinsterhood.

Anyway the dress is a girlish monstrosity! It is pink (freaking pink!), lacy and worst of all it's short! All the previous reaping day dresses were ankle length, some dark color and had collared necklines. Yes they were tight to show off my inherited figure (my figure sans my precious binding) but they were modest. This dress is not modest; in fact, it's so short bending over in it isn't possible. Also the deep swooping neckline will show far too much of my bare chest. I don't own a bra, I refuse to get one and the damn thing is some baby doll style that will hug my boobs. I would think it this awful thing is some prostitute's uniform if not for the fine fabric and delicate lace.

I outright refuse to wear it and believe nothing will get me into it until the witch says she will sell my beautiful rabbit pelt to make up for the money the dress cost. I shut up and go shave my legs and pits after that. It is such a good thing to have knife skills to fall back on! As it is my body just feels weird to be so smooth. This isn't the last of it though. I put the dress on now, hours and hours before the reaping and get to work. This is an all-out-attempt to ruin it in flour before it's time and have to wear anything else. The witch nearly has a fit over this but I state if I take it off now it stays off and lie that I don't care that much about my pelt. She gives in but watches me like a hawk. This is where being naturally very neat and efficient comes back to bite me in the ass. I've been in it for hours and it's still pristine and growing up near the oven flames means it takes a lot to make me sweat. Damn it!

My idiot brothers are half laughing and half offering to be a wall for me to hide behind. It's an offer that will be taken up; they will help some at least until we have to separate. The reaping is separated by gender as well as age, it's so the cameras can find the tributes easily.

Soon enough my work consumes me, drowning out the rest of the world. It is for that reason that when a knock at the back door happens I stupidly go over and open it. It's Hawthorne, he must be here to return the plastic bags. I hold out my hand for them but he is not moving, just staring at me. This goes on for a minute before I ask if he meant to keep the bags.

He snaps back to him self and smirks. "Sorry I was just distracted by noticing how cold you are." He glances down and I get his meaning.

Embarrassment causes me to flush all over. With so little on, in the cold morning air and my lack of binding all add up to my nipples being hard as rocks and so obvious. This is humiliating and it doesn't help anything when he starts to laugh at me. Slam goes the door, right in his face but his chortling comes through. The desire to beat him and scream every foul word imaginable at him is immense but sheer mortification freezes me. Somehow in this revolting dress I feel so weak, naked and vulnerable. Actually I would have preferred Hawthorne see me nude rather than in this. Eventually he stops laughing and teasingly asks if we don't want the plastic back. My brothers finally step in and get the bags from him while I hide behind the door.

Just as I think it's over he says, "Should I wake Rory and send him over?"

Just the idea is almost too much to handle. That little lecher would paw at me or at least try to; in no form can it be allowed to happen. I check for my parents but they are setting up something in the front. I grab a fresh roll, open the door and hold out the hot bread. "This bread for your complete silence."

He is momentarily stuck between shock and more laughter. He calms and asks, "Isn't that just delaying the inevitable?" He takes a sweeping look that unsettles me.

I shake my head, "I'm changing so take my offer and keep the deal or when we fight I'll knee you in the nuts." I have a reputation for not hitting boys there, it's not really fair to hit their weak spot, so he stares at me to see if it's a bluff. Right now it's like a solemn oath to me. He must see that I'm serious because he sends me a nasty smirk, takes the bread and leaves.

As soon as he goes I race up stairs and change into my nicest pants and my one good blouse. The pants are dark, nearly skin tight and the pale blouse is from years ago so it is very tight. I have to wear my binding just to button it closed. I have large breasts like the witch so even with the binding, in this tight shirt I look chesty. I hope this will be enough to satisfy my mother, if not too damn bad. I will give up the pelt because I just can't be in that horrible dress in public.

The witch has a fit but my father looks relieved, he thought it was too little also. She tries to at least get me to put on one of my old dresses but after being that exposed to Hawthorne it's impossible. To calm her down father says that the dress can be used next year. How much that is true is unclear to me so just to make a further point I don't braid my bangs into my French braid and leave them messy. It is almost a relief to leave for the reaping, almost.

When we get there the witch makes sure to point out all the other girls are in dresses. My retort is all the boys are in pants. The thwack she gives me is somewhat justified but we part after that. I find Madge quickly and we join hands like we do every year. She looks particularly pretty this year in her white dress but saying anything about it would just upset her so the words never leave my lips. On closer inspection my friend actually looks upset about something, or at least deep in thought about something. It's a while before Catpiss arrives but she decides to stick with the Seam girls. At first this seems like a snub but then she waves to Prim. Oh that's right, it is poor Prim's first year and like a good sister Katniss wants to be as close as she can. Just as I am about to tell Madge about it she throws out a random question.

"How many slips do you think Gale has this year?" she asks.

Hawthorne? What the hell is she thinking about him for? Involuntarily my eyes find him among the male Seam 18 year olds. He catches me, runs his gaze over my different clothes and smirks evilly. Oh holy bagels, what did he do? That smirk sends me checking on Rory instantly but the imp is excitedly chatting with another boy. What did the jerk say? I look back to Hawthorne but now he gives me a look so innocent it has to be false. Bastard. My face heats. That jackass is playing with me! Almost of its own accord my middle finger rises to flip him off.

This makes Madge gasp then laugh so I refocus only on her. In the scheme of things Hawthorne doesn't matter, my friend does and she deserves attention. Since she already is laughing I decide to keep it up and make up ridiculous limericks off the top of my head. They are more bad than funny and she delights in telling me so. The words 'so we're alike in that way' don't get to be voiced because the reaping starts.

The ceremony is just as terrible as it is every year. I always feel a bit sorry for Mayor Undersee for having to read aloud all that Capitolist drivel. Then it's time for the drawing and the female population collectively stiffens until Effie Trinket reads a name worse than mine.

"Madge Undersee."

My entire universe stills for a split second then it jumps into a crashing, pounding beat that echoes in my eardrums. I swear it nearly sounds like blood rushing in my ears but it has to be life as I know it falling apart.

All eyes are on my Madge as nearly everyone knows her, either from just being the Mayor's daughter or more likely from meeting her when she follows me on my bread deliveries. In general people like Madge even if they don't befriend her, like they can sense she is a nice person and it explains the vibe of distress I'm picking up from everyone around us.

Or maybe it's just her distress I feel. She is like a mannequin with her body stiff, face frozen towards the stage, skin a bloodless white, pale blue eyes unblinking and hand cold in mine. She needs help, my dear Madge needs help but I can't begin to know what to say or do. A subtle trembling is taking over her and it loosens her grasp from me. My poor Madge is shaking and beginning to breathe fast; she's not built for this. She won't survive being a tribute let alone going into the games!

"Madge Undersee," Trinket repeats clueless to who she's calling.

Suddenly her legs buckle, she is falling, I barely catch her before she hits the ground.

"MADGE! No, please she is my daughter."

I hear her father scream distantly but I'm locked on to her hopeless gaze. She's not really seeing me, she's just looking at her own doom and it cuts me deeply. Her eyes look too much like her mother's joyless voids so I hug her tightly to me, in a pitiful attempt to comfort her. She is just limp in my arms, just like her body will be in the arena. Oh my shitting god, I'm going to have to watch my Madge be murdered in the arena!

Around us our peers part for the peacekeepers. No! They are going to take her away! Standing with her still enwrapped in my embrace brings her smaller form straight off the ground. These Capitol fuckers want to send her to her death. I take a step back, bump into a peacekeeper I didn't notice sneak up and he sinks his fingers into my hair. I growl lowly; however instead of threatening him it shakes Madge out of her despair.

"Peeta," she whispers, "You have to let me go. You can't stop it, they'll only hurt you. Just let me go before they hurt you."

Oh god! She's thinking about me when it's her that is tribute? Tears erupt out of me but all I can do is murmur "No." Madge starts wriggling and squirming to get away from me, to protect me. My most valued person is trying to spare me. It's my breaking point.

I shove her into the arms of the peacekeepers, turn around and yell, "I Volunteer! I'll Be The Tribute!" I rip the fucker's hand out of my braid and sprint easily to the stairs, the damn asses had already cleared a path.

"What? No Peeta!" My precious friend screams. "No! Get back! Peeta!" For the first time in her life Madge is fighting; for the first time it's her that is thrashing, kicking and smacking people. It warms my heart to see it, to see so much life in my girly friend and I know I'm doing the right thing. Unfortunately the people she is beating up are peacekeepers so they haul her out of the square. If she weren't the Mayor's daughter I'd be worried about her. As it is, she can get away with anything short of murder. …Not that she's ever tried testing it.

When I get to the top of the stairs I face the damn cameras and announce, "I am Peeta Mellark and I volunteer as tribute!"

"Bravo! Just Bravo!" Trinket squeals then hurries up to me and takes my hand.

I snatch it back and snarl, "Don't touch me." I glare at her until she retreats a few steps.

She is visibly thrown off by this; most tributes don't show such emotion other than shock or fear towards her. They can't be blamed for having their futures torn away and then not knowing how to handle it. My future was to be alone anyway, so maybe it's no big loss? Somehow that thought feels like a lie.

When Trinket recovers she is blurting something about protocol but Mayor Undersee says that it doesn't matter now and does something so bizarre; he steps up and hugs me. He hugs me before all in the square, all of the district and all the Capitol. It's a quick hug but when he pulls back I can see the extreme sadness and gratitude in his brown eyes. This man knows me well. When Madge and I were young he would tuck us both into bed if I stayed over. While growing up he's lectured me just like my parents have on my style and behavior. He has laughed at my jokes and teased me in his own right. He is one of the very few that accepts me.

Yet this is not the way the ceremony is supposed to go so it is not unusual when Trinket tries to get things on track by asking the people of the square to applaud. What is unusual is the silence that answers. Surprised my eyes fly around the crowd. I know most of these people to some degree, as a baker, a delivery girl or a peer and no matter how friendly I had been to them they never responded much. Weren't these the people that didn't approve of me? But now they are silent and that silence says they don't agree, that this is not celebrated and that this is wrong… for me. They defy the Capitol for me.

It's a fight to keep back tears. These people that I believed had so rejected me, from whom I so badly longed for acceptance, maybe they don't totally write me off as I thought. It's not everything I wanted but it's not as bad as I feared. If my eyes close now the tears will fall for sure. A movement to my right pulls my focus from the people.

It's Mr. Abernathy, he half stumbles half strolls until he gets close enough for me to smell the liquor on him. He is looking me over queerly then asks, "Are you a girl?" Before I can even think of a response he reaches out surprisingly quickly and pokes me in the chest. He grunts, "Yep, girl."

It's subdued but a chuckle breaks out in the crowd yet the whole Capitol is probably bursting in gut busting laughter. Extreme mortification flushes my face and I pull back an arm to knock the S.O.B.'s freaking block off when Mayor Undersee hisses my name. My body halts; it's a conditioned response that's been 11 years in the making. The heat from my glowing face has dried my tears and I'm pissed enough to glare out into the square. It just causes more laughs to bubble up from them; so much for these bastards caring for me. A couple of thoughts run through my mind. One, although this humiliation can never be lived down I won't be alive for much longer. Two, the witch was right; I should have worn a dress.

Part 3 End.

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Side Note: I am looking for a Beta for this story. My grammar is all self taught and I daydream too much to always make things clear on paper.


	4. Part 4

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 4

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It is close to being a good thing when Effie Trinket tries again to get things under order and announces, "Now for our boy tribute!"

It sobers the audience instantly and sours any ounce of cheer that was here before. I almost miss it, better they laugh than fear. She grabs a name and goes to the podium hurriedly. I just have time to hope it's not my brother when she calls out, "Gale Hawthorne."

The name chills me to the bone. No! No! No! Not him! He doesn't deserve this and his family so needs him! My blue orbs fly to him but he just looks stiff and pale. Then the screaming starts, not him of course but his family, his sister and youngest brother are yelling 'no' from their mother's arms. I don't know their names. She looks stricken and a glance to Rory shows he already has wet trails running down his cheeks.

Resolutely Hawthorne marches to the stage and when Trinket excitedly asks for volunteers for one horrifying moment Rory opens his mouth. The glare that the hunter sends him is ferocious and shuts him up quickly. No one else makes a move to volunteer so Mayor Undersee begins to read the damn treaty rapidly.

His body is three feet from me but his mind must be on his family. Although his whole face appears impassive I know him enough to see how his beautiful eyes flicker between rage and worry. His hunting keeps his family from starving, who will hunt for them now? I look to Katniss, yes she will try but she has her own family to worry about. Katniss by herself is not likely to be able to take care of everyone. When she goes down my Madge will really be alone.

I find Prim in her section; she is wet faced, terribly sad but her head keeps switching from her sister to Hawthorne in worry. Mrs. Everdeen is harder to spot but like when she is not healing, she is her usual solitary oblivious lump. Prim is a smart girl, she knows what can happen; her sister will have to take out many tesserae to help and it could land her here on stage next year. If the situations were reversed it would be better; he is already 18 and could take out all the tesserae he needs because there won't be a next year for him.

A scan of the crowd shows many unhappy faces, even among the peacekeepers. He has friends, allies, people that will miss him and people that are helped by his trades. He is someone important, in a small way, to District 12. An uneasy urge begins to awaken in me.

My eyes go back to his family, they are huddling and shaking together, so hurt and hopeless. I can almost feel him get stiffer by the second beside me; likely he wants to go comfort them. A decision goes off in my head almost before I realize it. Gale Hawthorne needs to return home and I need to find away to help him.

Mayor Undersee finishes speaking and nods for us to hold hands as is custom. The hunter is reluctant naturally so I reach out and hold it. It's the first time we've touched without trying to rile the other up. His rough hand is bigger than mine but he doesn't fight me. I try to force an empathetic smile for him but all that comes out is a small sad one. It can't be helped; aside from my brother there is no male I want here less.

The anthem plays, I've never hated it more and as it ends the peacekeepers corral us to the Justice Building. It's only as we are ushered to separate rooms does it hit me that I have to let go of his hand. Oops. Mine releases his with a mumbled sorry then some ass-wipe shoves me into what has to be the finest room in all of 12.

Just seeing all the velvet upholstery, silk tablecloths, porcelain lamps, dark stained carved wood figurines makes it all sink in for me, makes it real for me. Holy mother fucking shit! I'm going to the hunger games. I have a moment of panic then remind myself life wouldn't be worth living through anyway if I stayed quiet. Life without my one friend, being forced to witness her death, watching her family crumble into nothing, also being useless while watching Hawthorne die and watching Katniss self destruct trying to save two families is not an option I would choose. Besides, at least this way spinsterhood is one less option.

The males in my family charge in, scattering my thoughts and engulf me in crying hugs. They accuse me, scream angrily at me all while holding and kissing me. Tears and apologies stream out of me, but I just couldn't let it be Madge, not my Madge. They don't understand, they can only see they are losing me and I feel loved but shamed for doing this to them. Too soon our time is up and many jackasses have to haul my strong brothers and father away.

Next comes Mayor Undersee, I nearly don't recognize him; he looks so conflicted. I knew he cared for me but I never dreamed it was this much. He is blabbering paradoxical things. How grateful he is, how I should have kept silent, how much he will miss me and how I belong here in 12. Then he says he will do anything he can for me. It takes but a second for me to know what I want. I ask him to treasure Madge, to not let her fade like her mother. They are harsh words, it is the first time I've said them aloud but they need to be said. I tell him Madge has so much vitality in her that she suppresses and it needs to stop. Second I ask him to freely give more grain and oil to the Hawthorne family. This puzzles him until it is explained that Madge will loose her only other friend Katniss Everdeen in the huntress' struggle to help two families. As soon as he understands it's for Madge that he needs to help he hugs me again and agrees. Once more it's the jackass peacekeepers that have to drag my visitors away.

Next to arrive is the one I want to see most: Madge! My Madge! We embrace, she holds me, I hold her and distantly I hear the bastards say we only get a minute as punishment for struggling. One minute? No words are said; we already know each other so well we don't need them. I feel her pressed to me, her heart beating, her lungs breathing and her warmth spreading. My most precious person is alive and she will stay alive, I would not have it any other way. I do not regret my decision. The minute is over far too quickly but we don't care. The damn bastards have to pry us apart but we don't care. Two hold my arms and one throws her over his shoulder, just before the door closes she grabs something from her dress, tears it off and tosses it at my feet. I look; it's her pin! This pin is so important to her but she is gone before I can refuse.

When the craptastic retards release me and leave I snatch the golden piece from the floor. This was her aunt's pin; she was ecstatic when her mother gave it to her last year for her birthday. I've always liked this Mockingjay pin but I've never touched it before. I knew it was special to her thus I left it to be solely hers. It's heavy in my hand, making me realize that it is solid gold! I should find away to give it back… but a part of me doesn't want to, this could be my token and it will be nice to have a piece of my friend in the games. I'll just have to be very careful and return it to her on my corpse.

Rory surprises me by coming through the door, so much so that I don't automatically smack him away when he lunges for me. His arms encircle me and at first I think he is trying to cop one last feel but then he is crying. I'm stunned and it takes a while to get my head together enough to pat him on the back. Why is he crying for me? I can't think of anything about us to say to him (I'd always just thought of him as an annoying pervert), so I tell him his brother can make it but I will do my best to send Hawthorne back anyway, not to take a tesserae because I made the mayor promise to give them more supplies and to have hope that they can move to the victor's village soon. He pulls away. Something is wrong; his face is even sadder! Shit what did I do wrong now?

He sighs and says, "You really are great but now I won't get to marry you, Peeta."

For the first time it occurs to me that he might not have been joking about that. That he actually likes me, likes me as I am and not just for my body. I have never thought of him that way yet the idea that any boy, even this squirt, could truly want me elates and crushes me. This timing could not have been more unpleasant. Maybe I would not have been alone after all. I look at him, really see him; in a few years, if he had told me he honestly liked me I would have given him a shot. Yet at present I have no warm feelings for him so I do the only nice thing I can think of. I place my hands to hold his face lean in and kiss the bridge of his nose. He just blinks up at me. "That's the best I can do, you're the first and only person I've ever kissed."

He moves to hug me again however the peacekeepers call time and he is forced to leave. I have to sit after he is gone. My chest hurts and maybe I don't want to go to the games now. My mind tells me to buck up since it's not a choice now.

When Katniss enters it is a relief that she came, now I can tell her-. The relief stops when I notice her lips look a little fuller than normal. She, for sure, would have been one of the people to visit Hawthorne. A dark mood creeps into me, I don't know what it means but now is not the time.

"I'm glad you're here." I lie as talking with her is like ripping teeth out.

She looks uncomfortable. "I needed to say thank you."

Oh. I had no idea she actually felt something so deep for my Madge. I smile and wave it off, "No need, we're all friends and it's natural I would take Madge's place." Okay so we aren't friends but she's just made me so happy it's an easy lie.

She appears confused and shakes her head. "No, I mean thank you for the bread… and offering your lunch the next day."

The bread. She is here to thank me for the bread. This Bitch is here for the Fucking BREAD?! I knew it! For years I knew it though hoped it wasn't true! It was cruel if it was true! She doesn't care one bit for my Madge and is only using her so as not to be totally alone! ARR! I want to beat the hell out of her but I just smile more at her. I can be a great actor when I need to be. "Don't say thank you for that, it was the right thing to do. I wouldn't be much of a person if I didn't help." I say as sweetly as I can, although the words are true, I'm faking my gentleness. "You just needed a bit of help that day, everyone has their days when they do." I pause, "Although it seems like you haven't needed any since."

"That's just it! At lunch I saw the dandelion because of you too and you gave me hope and bread and Prim's alive because of you!" She explodes.

Okay, so something got lost in translation or something… I don't fully understand but this is off the topic I want. I shake my head, "No, Prim is alive because of you and you are what is needed to keep her alive so please don't take out too many tesserae for Hawthorne's family." Her lips, damn things, open but I hold up a hand to stop her. "The mayor has promised me he will give extra grain and oil to the Hawthorne family and I am going to try my best to get him home. He is a hunter anyway so he could make it on his own. That being the situation please don't rush out to take tesserae until the games are over, he may come back a rich victor and Prim needs you."

She is stiff and shocked thus I give her a few seconds to sort herself out. "Why?" is all she finally comes up with.

"For our friend Madge," I remind the bitch, "she won't have me so she'll need you and you need to not be too busy keeping both his and your families alive." I don't trust her with this, this could be falling on deaf ears, "Please remember to be there for Madge too."

Then she asks me something ridiculous and very un-Catpiss-like, "Do you love her?"

"Naturally I love Madge." Then add, "But we're not like you and Hawthorne, she is my best friend nothing more or less," for no real reason, or so I tell myself.

She frowns in anger, "No! Gale and I are just partners- er friends too."

It is insistent and sharp, like that is the way it should be. Who is she convincing? Then I think of her lips again, the dark mood lifts and I feel pity for the both of them. If there is one person in 12 that should hold her heart it should be him, would be him. I know she has hardened herself but to do it so much, really? Poor Hawthorne, you're doomed. "My mistake then," I say easily. "But you will hope for your friends as our Madge hopes for me, yes?"

Catpiss only nods then leaves on her own. Wow, not even the full three minutes with that one. Not that I could really expect much more if she doesn't let Madge and Hawthorne, the two people that want to be close to her, through her defenses.

It is sent to the back burner when a second Everdeen takes her place. Sweet Prim just spends the whole time crying for me and promising she will always miss me. A lump takes over my throat so all I can do is hold her and rub her back. I did not think I mattered so much to her.

The door opens once more and I'm unnerved by who steps in. The witch decided to come it seems, oh joy. We stare at each other from opposite ends of the room for a few seconds then she starts with, "District Twelve may finally get another winner."

Huh? Where in this crap bowl of a world did that come from?

She continues, "He's a hunter, he could make it."

Ouch. Big ouch but what was I expecting? I smile at her, "Yes he could then you'll have to deal with another Seam victor, his whole family and all his friends. I know they like the bakery bread and they'll love the cakes, perhaps you will see all of them often enough to get very cozy." This visibly turns the witch greenish and makes my smile genuine.

When she recovers she frowns, "So you'll just find somewhere quiet to end it all? How shameful yet how unlike you." Her sky blue eyes pierce the sky blues she gave me. "No, you're planning something, something risky and ridiculous I'll bet." I never call my mother stupid; inane yes, silly yes, stupid no. However, this unsettles me that she could know me that well.

I think about going into our pattern of arguing but it just seems so foolish with me going to the games. I shrug and answer, "If I have my way Hawthorne will be coming back."

My mother, for maybe the second time in her life, does something she thinks is very un-lady-like and rolls her eyes. "I knew that Seam trash was too handsome for anyone's own good. I just thought you had more sense than that."

"No, it's not like that." I respond as calmly as I can even as my cheeks warm. With a hand she waves the matter away, reaches into her ever-present bag and pulls out that thing! Oh freakish god of delirium please let this be a hallucination! "No."

"Yes. You need to stop humiliating this family and put it on. You don't want a repeat of the stage do you? Besides you'll likely need sponsors for whatever imprudent plot you're scheming."

My brain scrambles for something, anything to counter as she holds it out yet it stops when the thing seems longer for some reason. "What happened to-"

"I took out the stitches I put in, you've grown in the last year."

I scowl at her as I start stripping. Now that she mentions it I see the dash line on the hem I hadn't seen in my earlier distress. So that means the damn thing is already a year old and she was still going to send me out with it indecently short. I wrap Madge's pin in my binding cloth then step into the vile symbol of skank-hood. Now it is four inches longer, I still shouldn't bend over too much.

The witch gives me a once over then moves to leave. "Fix your hair and remember to be lady-like for the car." Once more her hand goes to her bag, "These are from your father", a white parcel is set on the table near her and she is gone.

I know what it is; it's cookies, to be specific it's honey cookies. Though my father is giving me honey cookies my eyes stay on the door for a moment as if expecting more from her for an unclear reason. The feeling is not simple to shake off but my messed braid needs fixing so I concentrate on it.

The cookies are added to the pin in my bindings. No one else is coming I know and it's okay but suddenly I don't want to leave the few that matter. My Madge, father, brothers, Mayor Undersee, Prim, Rory and even the people of 12 who were silent; I'm luckier and more foolish than I thought. I should have seen their feelings for me sooner, should have recognized and appreciated what I had sooner. I should have not pitied myself so. Or at least I should have remained in blissful ignorance because now I really, really don't want to die.

Part 4 End.

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Side Note: I am looking for a Beta for this story. My grammar is all self taught and I daydream too much to always make things clear on paper. I posted parts 3 & 4 together in hopes of enticing any of you betas out there. If you're a normal reader don't count on these double postings happening again.


	5. Part 5

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

This chapter was extra rushed because father's day is looking to be a nightmare for me so I'm updating early to avoid further headache.

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PART 5

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It's Trinket that comes to retrieve me, she squeals at my dress, says, "That's more like it!" tries to hold my hand again and again I don't let her. When we get Hawthorne his face is hard and like before his mind is elsewhere. I know I should tell him of my decision but I'll wait until he is not so lost in his thoughts.

When the car comes up and I move to get in Trinket screeches something incomprehensible and keeps squeakily saying something very, very fast in her Capitol accent that I have no freaking clue what it is. I ignore her, get in the car and it's not until we make it to the station that she speaks slowly enough for me to understand a lady does not get into a car head first and flash everyone behind her. My face is hot when it clicks; so that's what the witch meant. Yet every bit of me goes red when Hawthorne snorts and I realize he was right behind me. I don't leave the car and its tinted windows until I'm back to my normal color.

This turns out to be a brilliant move on my part because blushing that badly in front of so many cameras would have been awful. Still it's nerve wracking to have them swarm us so my friendly smile automatically slides into place while my arms clutch my bindings to me. Hawthorne handles it much better than me and just has this cool aloof look. Heck, he is cool and so handsome he can get sponsors all on his own.

Finally the train takes off and good grief does it launch. It's jarring to feel the speed but that's nothing compared to just seeing the décor. The things around me are unrecognizable but there is no doubt that even one item from here would be worth enough to feed a family for a year. These people have all this but what they want is to see 24 kids kill each other. The thought makes me numb allowing Trinket to easily lead me to the room compartment. More fine things, furnishings, clothes and a full bathroom. I change into my bindings, a tight gray shirt, dark pants and Madge's pin then just lay down on an unbelievably soft bed. It was just supposed to be for a minute, that the minute transformed into an hour and has Trinket fetching me for dinner at the end of it is a shock.

Hunger isn't on my mind until I smell the food and once I taste it stopping is so hard. Our chaperon tut-tuts us the whole meal, saying we eat like barbarians just like normal twelve tributes. Just because I don't like her I start eating with some of the manners the witch drilled into me then pick up the plate to lick it; the scowl of her weird Capitol face is more funny than scary. The meal is half over before it dawns on me someone is missing, "Where is Mr. Abernathy?"

Her bored face is amusing too, but her answer is not. "He might be coming later."

Abruptly my appetite reduces, "But he will come later to discuss strategy for the games with us, right?" Without a mentor's help I don't really know where to begin helping him, off the top of my head maybe I could be bait for one of his traps? It works with the rabbits, right?

"Does that drunkard actually stay drunk for the whole game?"

Hawthorne's voice is so harsh and sudden it startles me, yet it's the idea that has me cringing. He's been to the bakery a few times, father always says to respect Mr. Abernathy but it's clear he pities our only victor. He is drunk very often but surely he will abstain now, surely he will help us.

All worrying seems for not when he stumbles in; literally stumbles and I have to shoot up to catch him before he hits the table. Ew, he still smells of liquor and now maybe a bit of vomit. More to get him away from me I half carry him over to the seat besides Trinket. He slumps there dazedly, long enough for me to sit again. Seeing him up close, only a table width away and not distracted by the reaping, a mess of a man is all that is across from me. How is he supposed to help us? Mr. Abernathy begins to eat and picks water to drink; maybe once he sobers? Trinket certainly seems to take this as a good sign and looks elated.

Uhn. My stomach! Oh thank god I didn't eat to capacity; there is no way I could hold a full belly down. The break in stuffing myself on this fancy Capitol food allows me to realize this stuff is too rich for me. A gagging sound from my fellow green-tinged tribute confirms the same for him.

"Stopping now? But dessert is in just four courses. You won't want to miss it." Says our escort.

Neither of us says anything but at least for me it is a torture to watch her and our mentor eat; each bite they take makes me more nauseous. When they finish I immediately jump on this opportunity, "So what is our strategy for the games?"

Mr. Abernathy belches then, "Wait 'til after the recap tomboy. Need to scope out the competition."

Again our escort, after a flinch at the burp, looks positively overjoyed to hear this and actually smiles at him. It seems to cause a reciprocal flinch in him and I get the feeling that this is not typical for them. If she notes his reaction she doesn't show it, just urges us to keep on schedule and go watch the recap. We have to change cars for this and in doing so I think Mr. Abernathy spies my pin; it caught his gaze for a moment. For a second his eyes go hard and something dangerous peaks out from the Seam gray depths. My nerves make me smile yet further interaction is cut off by the start of the recap.

One, two, three four. Shit, I'd always known the Careers are huge but now they seem especially large. Not District 3 but the others… Well not completely the girls, they are my height and thicker than me by only 20 to 25 pounds. Strength-wise I'm sure I can take them and I am grateful it's me not Madge facing them. My friend is, like the majority of girls from our district, only 5'5". In fact there are only five district females I know of that are around my height. It's the tribute boys that are massive; they are all about Hawthorne's height but very muscular and broad. They could be 50 to70 pounds more than me. Oh things would have been simpler if I'd been born a boy, or at minimum didn't have my mother's thin figure.

The rest of the districts look normal, regular size or a bit sickly. They could be a problem for the average merchant girl or Seam girl but I'm used to brawling, sports and heavy lifting. It's not until the District 11 boy comes up that I worry about size again. I just catch his first name but Thresh is made an impression.

When it's our turn it is surreal to see what all of Panem sees. Her name is called and the eyes of the crowd pinpoint our location for the camera. It is so strange to see it all happen so fast; her shaking, her name again, her dropping, her father calling, the peacekeepers creeping up on us, my shoving her away, volunteering, my charging the stage, her fighting, Trinket's attempt, the mayor's hug and the crowd's silence. It all looks a bit overdramatic and I can't help hating the wetness of my eyes on screen. Then comes the poke and my face burns anew just seeing it, the fiery heat doesn't get better when it's Mayor Undersee's hiss that stops my punch from releasing on an unsuspecting Mr. Abernathy.

Said man in the chair next to me stiffens and it is indiscernible which is worse, the chortling of district people I know, all of Panem witnessing it, the commentator's crude joke or being under my mentor's orbs right now.

Hawthorne's turn is up and it's just as unfortunate and sad as it was then but through the camera's view I notice something. He looks so strong, dark and dangerous next to me. His families' teary break down, somehow including Rory's weepy almost volunteering makes him just look all the stronger. The clear dislike from the majority of the square adds to his appearance of someone connected and powerful. I sneak a peak at the guy beside me on this love seat; he still seems as tough as on TV. I turn back to the recap and watch myself on stage. I can't tell visibly when I made the decision but that doesn't stop me from reaffirming it right now.

Whatever wishy-washy feelings I had before are fading, it is good to see this again and gain my focus back. Hawthorne needs to live and I'll help how ever I can. The rest of the reaping and train boarding goes on but my mind is puzzling on what can I really do to help. Fingers snap in front of my face, jerking me from my thoughts. "What?"

Mr. Abernathy takes his hand away, his face is cross but he speaks, "I asked if that was your real rack in that little number or if you were stuffing, tomboy."

My automatic response is to refuse to answer him about it but he is our mentor now so, "That's me, but I usually bind my chest down."

"Well that stops at the Capitol," he says as he leans back in his seat. "Oh and this dressing like a boy, kiss that goodbye too."

Instantly I'm angry and almost ask why but then, "Will it help get sponsors?"

"Bingo, sweetheart, bingo. Rich people will sign on for curves."

Shit! Damn it more dresses. I sigh and try to think of this as a good thing, an awful thing for me but could still be good for my teen companion. I glance at the unusually quiet Seam boy. "Can sponsors' money be transferred from a district's tribute to the other tribute?"

Our mentor sits up, his brow coming together with the question. "Yes, if the mentors are on good terms it is generally what happens once the district's lost one."

Lost one… I breathe deep, now is as good a time as any. "But what if I want all the money I get to go to Hawthorne as it comes?"

"Mellark?" "What?" They each shout. Seam gray glare in stereo. Wow.

But I turn to Hawthorne, I know from arguments before that he does not take to being ignored when angered. I try to make my voice soft. "You can win this, you've got skills and you have reasons to. I want to help you."

"Mellark have you lost it? What the hell is going on in that fluff you call a brain?"

Bye-bye softness! Anger flushes me. "Well jackass, I was thinking about Rory and your family, about Katniss and Prim, about how the district is better from your trade, about how much better it would be with parcel day every month and how it'd be great for 12 if you came back."

He just looks pissed for some reason. "So that means you're just going to give up like some pussy? Like some yellow bellied bitch?"

I HATE when he calls me Bitch and he knows it. Any other name or being called it from another person and I usually won't care but it enrages me when HE does it. I want to break his face but instead I dig my fingers into the couch to hold back, the ripping sound means I don't have long. "No, Asshole, I'm going to fight, do everything and anything to keep your awful self alive!"

He scowls, but he knows I'm dead serious. "Shouldn't you want to get back to your own family and your girlfriend?"

This rational question calms me some. "Of course I'd like to go back home, but not at the cost of you. Anyway you should be the one to go back. Your family needs you, mine doesn't. Madge and I are just friends, neither of us wants a girl like that. I think she'll be okay if she has Katniss. In fact I was hoping you would be her friend too once you get back."

He still looks thrown by this. "Why should it matter that it's me and my family?"

I blink at him. "Hawthorne you can hunt, probably can survive in the woods, you fight barehanded, against lots of guys at once, you're pretty strong, can set snares, Prim says you're good at strategy, you can use a bow and arrow and you could probably be as charming as Finnick Odair if you tried. You have a good chance at being victor, why would I take that from you?"

Now he looks so uncomfortable. Shit. What to say? "Catp- er Katniss, Prim and Madge too, in a way, are counting on you. All their lives will be better if you go back. I mean I've already talked to Mayor Undersee, he promised to give your family extra grain and oil for free. That should free Katniss from some of the responsibility, so she won't be so busy trying to save both your families and she'll have time for Madge. Thus Madge won't be alone; she can't be allowed to suffer quietly and alone. I already told Katniss not to take out more tesserae before the games are over, so if we get you back to 12 both of you will still hopefully be there next year and the year after for Madge."

He slumps against the wall, just staring at me. He is really looking at me in a way he has never done before and it makes me nervous, causes my stomach to be fluttery. Then he starts scowling, really scowling; so hard it makes me want to back up. I don't of course and hold my ground. "No. That can't be it. You're lying or trying to trick me, and I've heard you're an excellent faker."

I frown; yeah that little factoid has been floating around school for 4 years. Can I help it if some teachers were nasty enough to deserve a little pay back? "Well maybe I am a good liar and pretender but I'm not trying to trick you! I'm not lying to you. This is serious, I'm serious."

He shakes his head, "No. I know there is something…"

"Well, I'm not trying to trick you! I want you to be victor. I want to help you be victor."

"Then you're lying about something, I just know it." And he seems like he really believes it, that I'm lying about this.

Suddenly I think I understand what he means. It's not really a lie but more a reason and I don't want to tell him. I don't want him to know what my Madge, father, brothers and strangely enough Prim know. They know about me making up my mind at 12 years old, to never kill if I got pulled into the games. They know I refused to change myself so, to become a Capitol puppet like that. They know I would rather die than change me and I know to my core that murdering someone would change me. I decided at my first reaping I would live my own life even if it meant my death. I should tell him though, to get him to trust me in the arena, to let me help him. So I make a pointed look to Trinket and Mr. Abernathy then say, "I'll tell you later."

The hunter relaxes a bit, "I'll hold you to that." He pauses, "But that doesn't mean I'll let anyone die for me."

What is this ass talking about? Shouldn't he be happy I'm not planning to kill him myself? Shouldn't he be more agreeable to having someone help him? I so don't understand him. I suddenly get the feeling helping him will be like helping Catpiss for the most part. A groan needs to be suppressed thanks to that. "Can we decide that later? Right now I still want my question answered."

His sharp gray eyes are flickering between us, whatever he is thinking he doesn't tell us just replies, "Technically there is no rule against it, I could swing it." Gray meet gray, "You have anything to add to her list, boy?"

"Gale, not boy," is all he answers.

The older man waves a hand dismissively, "So what about you? What can you do, sweetheart?"

That stupid 'sweetheart' is beginning to bug me but finally this conversation going in the direction I want so I smile. "I haven't measured recently but a hundred pound sack of flour plus a thirty pound bag of sugar aren't a problem for me. I'm good at brawling, wrestling, and sports too. I can bake, cook, skin a animal and a friend taught me to clean and stitch a wound, Mr. Abernathy."

He winces then his eyebrows come together again. "Haymitch, not Mr. Abernathy. And it's not good to false advertise to me, kiddo." He runs his gaze over my girlish frame. "How strong are you really?"

Damn it, yet again it would have been better to be a guy and broad like my brothers. I get up and turn to the hunter, "I think this love seat is around 130, do you mind?" He smirks at Mr. Haymitch then stands up and retreats two steps. I bend, shove my hands under the base and lift it straight over my head. "Nope, more like 110."

Trinket gasps then works her mouth like a landed fish. Our mentor's eyes are very large. I just smile my sunniest smile.

"Yeah, her and her whole family are freakishly strong." I hear from behind me. It's a backhanded complement but it still sends shivers of delight down my spine.

Part 5 End.

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Side Note: First of all thank you to those that took the time to review but please reframe from doing it again. Secondly to everyone that wanted to review but restrained themselves big, heart-felt thank you to you! Third: if you aren't in either category then please please please do not review! I don't handle reviews well. Yes I'm weird like that but please respect my difference and don't review. Thank you for reading my story, you honor me that way and it's enough. I'm glad if you like it but I'm also glad if you don't like it (it means you prefer different possibilities and possibilities are always a good thing). Yet I'm begging you all not to share your opinions with me. Reviews throw me off and throw my writing off so please no reviews.

Thank you for reading this. -DarkGiggle


	6. Part 6

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Slight violence in this chapter, but it's very slight. If this level is where you are comfortable then ditch this story now. I plan to make this story very adult and very violent in the arena. Also all future warnings about the chapters will be at the end, after the chapter. I like to write good, descriptive warnings but they tend to give away any surprise so they will be at the bottom of the page for anyone that wants a heads up.

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PART 6

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Mr. Abernathy just sighed, pulled a flask from his jacket and dismissed us to bed as soon as I had set the love seat down. He claimed he needed to think, he said we were unusual tributes and a new strategy might be good. Considering that we have no other victors we didn't argue. I think it was more likely he wanted to drink but it was better than nothing.

I bid goodnight to Hawthorne then showered for far too long. I kept waiting for the hot water to run out like at home, but at 8 minutes, 15 minutes and even 25 minutes it did not. Honestly by then I was expecting the water to run out! Oh but it was delicious!

I dressed in soft blue pajamas, dive bombed the soft bed, took one glance at the parcel of cookies and got homesick. Briefly I felt pity for myself and the shortness of my life but then I remembered something important. I had let pity blind me to all the good things at home; if my life felt short it was my fault. That thought hurt me, comforted me and, incredibly, knocked me right out.

It's very early morning now, or is this still considered night? I'm a baker but this early even for me. Sleep isn't an option as I'm restless. It is because there is usually more activity going on in my life, yesterday, though it was an emotional rollercoaster, didn't even include my daily exercises. I decide to do them, but not here, it would be nasty to wake up anyone near by. The clothes from the day before are good enough. The TV car is perfect for my needs once the furniture is rearrange. Stretches, push-ups, sit ups, squats all go by uninterrupted but then a noise pulls me to the dining car.

It's Mr. Abernathy, up this soon but he's reaching for the alcohol. Great… If he goes on a bender at this hour of the morning he'll sleep 'til afternoon. Oh no, this mustn't be allowed. I let him drink one glass then on the refill, snatch the bottle away from him. His fist flies out, automatically I block with my forearm, the falling of the cup is my only warning before his other fist comes, sporting a knife. Speed is in my favor; my hand drops the bottle, grabs his wrist and shoves it off course from my neck. His free first arm rears back; again speed favors me, letting me catch his larger fist in my palm before he can begin to release his coiled limb. This brings me very close to him, my merchant sky blues to his Seam grays. He attempts to head butt me, I move my head closer to minimize the range he has. His eyes narrow but a smile slips on to my lips; this is stirring. Or it is until he shoves his leg between us and kicks me away. Landing on my ass should never be fun for me, so the laugh that bubbles up is unexplainable.

My mentor is smirking; it's half annoyed and half relieved. "Oh you're a fighter alright sweetheart. But you've still got things to learn."

"Yeah, apparently, never thought a leg would take me down."

This makes him frown, "What do you mean? Didn't you say you were a brawler? And you don't use your legs?"

It seems like a simple question with an automatic 'no' for a reply but then he'll what to know why right? The thought has to process before I can give an answer. "In the fights I've fought legs are for when we're on the ground already or some chicken shit is kicking me when I'm down. I don't use my legs because I'm fighting guys and it's not fair to kick them there."

Haymitch snorts, "Yeah, they'll thank you for being fair in the arena, sweetheart. Learn to use your legs and fast. You're a girl anyway, there's your strength." He glances to the mess on the floor. "And come clean this up."

My eyes narrow. "You shouldn't be drinking now anyway, you have Hawthorne and me to mentor."

The smirk that he sends me is a nasty one. The expression has so much arrogance, no, out right superiority dripping from it. With exaggerated ease he goes to the other side of the car, allowing me room and says, "Yeah, that's going to stop me from drinking."

I don't have anything to say to that, so I go over and start cleaning up the shattered glass, and spilt booze. It's done in a minute and I plant my feet in front of the bar blocking him from getting more.

He leans lazily on the opposite wall, as if he is totally unimpressed yet asks, "What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?" The edge to his voice is startling but now isn't the time to let it show.

What am I doing? Shouldn't the question be what is he doing? Why is he like this? Wasn't he willing to go without alcohol last night? This off-putting attitude makes me flounder so I say the most sincere thing I can. "I don't want to die in vain, you could help me help that. Hawthorne can win, please help him win. Please help me help him win. It would be good for so many people if he won."

He doesn't move an inch yet suddenly his whole frame has a stiff level of tension. His hand comes up to rub his face, rub his clenched eyes. "You're such a child. You have no idea what you're asking. Just no idea." He whispers through grit teeth.

What the hell? Where the crap did that come from? Humph. Maybe he's right, I don't understand. I don't even understand if he's angry, distressed or just bored with me at this moment. I don't understand why he wouldn't rush to help us. We are far healthier than the unfortunate Seam children he's mostly had for years. We can fight too, well somewhat, and I only want him to bring Hawthorne home. Shouldn't this be easier for him? For a while I can't think of anything to say, even as his eyes fall on me. My fingers absently find Madge's pin, fiddle with it and then I know my words. "Maybe not but I think this is the right thing to do for our district and the people I care for so please help me and Hawthorne."

Haymitch growls, seems to measure me for a moment then out of the blue asks, "Where did you get that pin?"

The pin? Oh right, he was looking at it last night. I speak before I think, "It's my best friend Madge's pin. It's her most treasured thing in the world. It belonged to her aunt, then her mother and now her. She's letting me borrow it for the arena. I think it will be nice to have her favorite thing with me there."

Mr. Abernathy sends such a glare; what the shit did I do to deserve that? His gray orbs are cold hard steel in his head, then he turns for the TV car and yells, "Get the boy," over his shoulder.

I scramble to comply, race down to Hawthorne and start banging on his door, not caring who else I wake. "Hawthorne, you need to get up! Get up now!"

"Go away Panty." He shouts back.

My mind has to push the loathed name aside before it clicks, his voice sounded wide-awake. Holy bagels that fucker is up already! "Our mentor wants us in the TV car now." I'm not patient, waiting only 15 seconds before strong-arming the door open. Instantly it is obvious patience would have been better, my eyes snap shut and my apologies sputter out; he is in the middle of changing. His grumble of pervert reddens me from head to toe.

I leave to wait in the hall with the newfound realization that it was not just his handsome face and charm the girls back home were after. Then a thought creeps up; there are a lot of girls and women back home that have more than seen him in less than his boxers. My blush is effectively killed and now I'm just itching for a fight. When I sense him behind me I just start leading the way back.

Oh just peachy, leave him alone for 2 minutes and he has a tall, full glass in hand. That it seems to be the only spirits in the car makes it unwise to make a big deal out of it but it still grates me. The half playful half mocking grin on the alcoholic's face tells me he knows my feelings on it.

Again, he is languidly leaning on the wall. "Good of you to show up boy, so-"

"Gale." The idiot interrupts and I have to hold my own tongue not to say, 'Does it really matter what he calls you when he can help keep you alive?'

The grin just spreads and he slides over the side of a chair to sit. "So now you can warm up with her instead, boy." He looks us both over once more before saying, "This is a spar so don't go full strength. Show me what you can do and how much control you have. Avoid each other's face and try not to leave marks on necks, wrists and hands, your clothes and body paint can cover the rest. You don't stop until I tell you to and," his eyes narrow, "you stop when I say stop." He let his last words hang in the air with an intense tone then nodded us to the middle of the car.

I am positively gleeful! I've monitored so many of his fights and he's done the same for a lot of mine. I've wanted to fight him for so long; however, this is even better! We aren't pals and he has never had time for sports so friendly sparring matches were out of the question for us. This is more than I've ever dreamed! I've never wanted to truly injure him yet I've craved to find out who the more talented fighter is. "You're going down, Hawthorne." My voice sounds more cheery than threatening. I move to the center and bring my fists up.

"Not a chance Mellark," his tone is oozing macho confidence, he joins me in the middle and brings his own arms up.

Oh, even just those four words get my pulse racing and eagerness throbbing in every part of me. Well Mr. Abernathy did say I need to use my legs more and he never said he would start us off. I charge in low, feint an upper cut, which he dodges easily and attempts to return with a right cross up close but I'm already dropping and kicking his support leg out from under him. He goes down, gets the air smacked out of him but instinctively jabs at me, it catches my left shoulder but it's not enough to stop my hammer fist into his sternum. More air goes out of him and he's really choking for air now; delighted I crawl on, straddle his fluctuating stomach and grab his wrists. I smile happily at him and chirp, "You're down Hawthorne." Some of my own arrogance pops up and I continue, "And here I thought you could do so much better than this."

Gray irises flash and even before he recovers he retaliates. A foot stomps the floor thrusting his hips up unevenly as his long arms stretch out, exceeding my reach and helping launch me off him. I land sideways and skid but there is no time to reorient. I lunge at him, crash into his rising form and send us down again. I don't want him standing because he has reach on me and I've taken wrestling, he hasn't. I try to get him in an armbar but he is so fast and he twists out while sending his elbow into my ribs. My breath gushes out of me, I kick out against his hip to separate us and roll away, all to buy myself recovery time.

It doesn't get much because he's up in a second to bring an axe kick down on me but I do get to my knees and block with both my forearms. Instantly his balance is thrown off, it's enough for me to shove him straight over. I try to get him in figure four leg lock; key word is 'try'. He's so fast he just pulls in his leg with me still holding it. I'm falling over him and his fist is rising to meet me, all I have time to do is shut my eyes. I know Hawthorne never ends a fight without leaving some black eyes; however, force impacts into my collarbone, spins my trajectory and puts me on my side next to him.

He rolls us, straddles me and starts raining punches. I block with my arms, stopping any that come for my face down to my chest but my stomach is getting pounded. It hurts but I feel electrified and am determined to get him too. I start only blocking with my left arm and punching back with my right. My shoulder blades are flush to floor so I can't pull back much and his face is well away yet his own belly is a great target. I hit hard, I know I do, I'm tough enough to guard with one arm and I have great aim so his fists aren't getting through like mine are; keeping this going is coasting him more than it is me. He attempts to grab my wrists and pin them down to the floor. I start laughing joyously as he catches my wrists again and again because he isn't strong enough to keep them.

Gray eyes fix on my sky blue ones before he lifts his arms into the air, locks his hands together and yank them down. Shit! That will have a lot of momentum! Taking a page from his play book I stomp my feet down, thrust my hips up and press my spine into the flat surface behind me; it unseats him but not fully, his thighs are too long for it to fully throw him. None-the-less his hands part reflexively for balance and now is my chance. I grasp both his knees, swing my legs in under his arms, press my calves to each shoulder and pull him backwards. He is fast enough to turn a fraction and get his elbow under him so it, not the back his skull, that slams down into the ground first. He still topples over.

My legs are half under him so I sit up as best as I can and drive my elbows into the tops of his thighs. He grunts, and I make to do it again when he snags one of my ankles and twists. I yelp and go limp, it's not a pain I've ever experienced. This is his opening, he reverses himself and when he is on me again we are face to face. We are grappling and he is doing freaking amazing, learning on the fly. Although his longer limbs and body certainly don't help and his speed is keeping me on the defensive, it's how steep his learning curve is that might be my undoing. I have my strength, my flexibility and my training going for me as he tries to lock me in one hold but he is learning my body's limits. With each failed maneuver, it is taking me longer to break, longer to counter and longer to roll away; he is figuring out what angles I can't bend at, what positions reduce my force and how to leverage his own power on me.

Oh god, he is so close and so persistent that we are writhing against each other. I so want to head butt him now! Damn the no faces rule! I let out a low growl that he grins at in response.

Finally all his experimenting leads him down the wrong way when he shoves himself between my thighs. He is distracted by working my arms under me so he doesn't see it coming, it also goes to show how I still am not used to fighting with my legs that it took until he does this for me to see it. Anyway with his body between my legs I jerk my thighs up, cross my ankles and start to squeeze on his ribs. The effect is immediate! Hawthorne is suddenly the one trying to escape and struggling to free himself. I smile up at him excitedly. As he releases my arms to go for my legs I bear hug him and pin them to his sides.

I really think I have him until he squirms enough to get a knee under him and roll us to the side and starts slamming my back and head into the wall. I hadn't realized we were that close. Automatically I wrench my arms away, cradle the back of my skull and shove at him. With his arms free he gets himself free of my legs and rolls some distance to catch his breath.

Okay, time for a new plan. I rise, wait for him to rise; it's not to give him a break, it's because he's made ground fighting very uncertain for me. When the wait continues and I make no move to attack he smiles so smugly it's fucking attractive. He comes after me still looking good, swings a speeding haymaker, I have to turn my head to avoid it and feel the heat of his fist pass my temple! Crap. It seems that smile is damn distracting too. That just makes it more thrilling! Instantly he turns the miss into a back fist at my cheek. I block with my right, jab at his kidney with my left, push off with my back leg and drive my knee into his solar plexus. Watching him stagger back makes me blissful and I send a roundhouse kick at his head to turn the earlier favor. He takes a move from my usual repertoire and punches directly at the side of my ankle. I stumble, completely off center, catch my hands on the wall and stay for a second from the throb in the bone. Either he was holding back or he doesn't have my precision to hit the joint between the bones and not the actual bone. I'm guessing from his previous assaults it's the later reason.

He is getting more aggressive; the two hand locked, the haymaker, his over force and this hit to my ankle. It makes me elated. I push off from the wall, pretend to come at him full tilt, cross, jab, cross, jab, jab, back off while leaving my left guard slightly lower and he takes the invitation. Practice, tons of practice, is the only thing that makes me fast enough to grab his counter strike in both my hands, twist, lock over his wrist and put him in pronating wristlock. I pull more than torque his arm but he still bends in half facing the floor. He pauses a bit then sends me a heated glare that draws a rapturous smile from me. He abruptly bends further, plants his free hand down, kicks his legs in the air. The split second the combination of lessened rotation and his sudden body weight yanks his wrist from me. His muscles bunch, the support arm extends, his legs come down, the next second he flips over and is standing, feet too wide apart but he is standing.

All I can do is gape at him, eyebrows near my hairline, silently asking, 'what the hell was that?' He shrugs with a cocky grin and I just know he pulled that move from out of his ass; neither of us had ever seen it before let alone done it.

"Yeah, yeah. Nice one handed front hand spring, now get back to sparring," snipes Mr. Abernathy.

Oops. I forgot he was there yet now I can't help looking at him hopefully. Are we doing good? Are we showing him solid skill or just potential or maybe neither? No his eyes are speckled with something… vibrant. That's better than dull or annoyed, right?

I don't get to think of it more as strong arms whip under mine, wrap around my neck and clutch me in a full nelson. Instinctively I relax and drop, trying to slip but he just follows me down. Worse, once we hit the carpet he plows me forward and I have to turn my face not to land on it. I manage to force my way from the hold but if I thought being one the floor the first time was bad that was nothing compared to now. He is on the back of my knees with his; driving them into the ground, cutting off circulation, ending articulation and making them useless. The length of his body is glued to mine, crushing the wind out of me not only with his weight but the ridiculously squashed position he has us in. My face, clavicles and upper chest are squashed into the floor, my back is bent at an absurd angle and my rear is force up. I wiggle like mad yet the most I can do is get my arms free of the lock, which he promptly wrangles back under his control so that my limbs are twisted back with my palms splayed across my scapulas.

Fuck! I'm pissed and euphoric at the same time! No one has come close to doing this to me in a year and a half, no one expect my brothers has ever forced so much out of me and I really don't want to lose… though it might not be my choice. I wriggle as it is my best option now, if I really wanted I could heave my arms free however at the rotation they are at I risk seriously hurting my shoulder sockets before the arena.

Hot breath brushes my ear, his overconfident tones have a silky quality to them. "Ready to admit defeat Mellark?"

I don't have the air to waste on words so I snarl at him. My sound is drowned out though, by a high pitched, feminine shriek. Before the sound fully registers, SLASH! cold water descends on us.

"HOW DARE YOU FORCE A GIRL, YOU HOOLIGAN! GET OFF HER THIS INSTANT! OR I'LL CALL THE PEACEKEEPERS!"

Huh?

Part 6 End.

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Side Note: Updating early really threw off my schedule but Sunday seems very far away so ta-da! I'd also like to remind everyone to be so kind as to NOT review. If you like my story that's great, tell a friend, add it to your alerts or favorites if you want to. Do anything else but review.


	7. Part 7

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and still looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 7

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I'm released but can only look up through my wet bangs at Effie Trinket! She is positively pink with outrage, waving her arms wildly and doesn't seem to be done screaming yet.

"AND YOU HAYMITCH! YOU DEGENERATE! HOW COULD YOU SIT THERE AND WATCH THIS! I THOUGHT YOU BETTER THAN SCUM!"

"Effie-" Mr. Abernathy starts.

She glares at us and raises an empty glass pitcher up menacingly, "I SAID OFF HER, BEAST!"

Holy bagels, is she going to lob that at us? Hawthorne scrambles off me and we both scoot the hell away from the lunatic. Our mentor stands now and gets in between, palms up passively. Trinket just switches her scowl to him and there is an odd look of hurt disbelief in the lilac eyes.

He sighs, "She's fine Effie, they were just sparring for me. I needed to know how well they fight."

Our escort blinks rapidly a few times then looks from soaked us to him and back. "You were mentoring this early in the morning?" she looks him up and down, "you are sober…"

Suddenly it clicks what the ludicrous misconception she had was, I begin laughing. Oh that this rich! HA! Ha! Ha! Just too rich! "Hawthorne" my laughs interrupt me "wanting that" can't help even more laughs bursting out "from me? Ha! Ha ha!" Not in a million years! I keep laughing. I know his type and aside from Catpiss his type is feminine, fuckable and forgettable. He doesn't even try to flirt with girls or women whom aren't his three F's; girls like Madge and his friends' sisters and women like those he has to keep good trade agreements with. From the times I've run into him while on delivery I know there should be one more 'F' in that standard: Free. I mean free as in not someone's current girlfriend, fiancée or wife. Of course then he wouldn't have near as many fights as he does, so maybe he does it on purpose?

When my chuckles die down I notice all of them looking at me. It feels like I should share the joke but I'm not sure how to explain without speaking about his… mating habits with them. It's not their business so I just ask, "Should we continue?"

Older grays scan us then his watch. "Nah, it's nearly six, go wash up and change for the Capitol." He turns to Trinket. "Can you get two bruise creams and the medical kits to their rooms? They did a number on each other. Oh and help Sweetheart here pick something right for a girl."

Now returned to her usual eerie pale she seems in shock to have something to do, but she nods to him, says, "Apologies" and is off.

That Capitol henchman is going to help me dress? I watch her retreating silver and pink clad form leave in disgust and glare at the bastard when she is gone. "Is this payback for the drink?"

A half smirk creeps into place but his gray eyes aren't teasing. "Not too sure on that; however, I am sure that your tomboy style won't be well received in the Capitol. They're all so prissy they can barely comprehend a man being masculine, let alone you. A bit before breakfast I want Effie to give you pointers on how to be girly, sport."

I don't groan or whine out my misery at hearing this but it must be on my face because my now damp companion is the one doubled up guffawing at me. "Shut up, Hawthorne! It's not funny!"

"Oh yes - Ha! Ha! - it is Panty, yes it is."

I take a real swing at the A-hole, full force thus full speed.

He dodges and grins. "You sure you want to go again," he pauses to meet my sky blue eyes, "loser."

That ass-hat! I flush, "It's not a real loss if it's a spar. I'm stronger than that!" It's true I was restraining a lot on almost all my hits and holds. "Compare with your hip if you don't believe me." That reflexive kick had gotten away from me. "Besides if it wasn't a spar I could have gotten out of that pin, Hawthorne."

He very obviously doesn't want to give up his win. "A loss is a loss, Mellark. I-"

"Okay that needs to stop right now." Haymitch interrupts. "From now on you two call each other by first names only, no exception, no substitutions." We both stare in shock. "Are you going to sit there like two wet lumps or are you going to get ready?" Somehow that feels enough like an order to get us moving.

Walking through the cars back to the sleeping rooms makes me take stock of my muscles, tendons and especially my ligaments. They don't hurt now, I'm still high on adrenaline and joy over a good match, it is later that the pain will blossom.

Trinket waits for us with a kit for each. She follows me into my room and swings open the closet. As nice as a shower would feel this instant I don't trust this bitch to pick something that isn't out right freakish. When she starts to pull something ruffled and pink I remind her that I'll have bruises that I need to cover. It's uncomfortable but I strip to my bindings and underwear to show her what needs to be clothed. Actually it's unpleasant, not just uncomfortable. Her lilac Capitol eyes aren't like my district's eyes; I've never even thought to be shy in front of any one from home. Not that I display myself but in the locker room before gym or some sport event I wasn't concerned with others. These are eyes that will wish harm to me once the games start. Or do they? She did try to protect me from what she thought was an assault. Where does that put her?

When she sees me Trinket inhales deeply then lets loose a long string of things in her accent that again I can't get. If I hadn't caught the word 'beast' I would not have had the foggiest idea what she is on about. "Hey! No! Haw- Gale isn't like that! I did just as bad to him as he did to me. We needed to show Mr. Abernathy what we are capable of."

She still looks concerned at my state before she turns to find something that can hide my left side. From my left collarbone to my wrist is dark and getting darker, my right arm is too, from elbow to wrist. My middle torso to my hips and my knees are likewise. She keeps pulling awful things out of the closet that I hadn't realized were there. Not just girly terrible but Capitol terrible too, like with polka dotted frills, striped lace and neon colored layering! It's too much, so much that I blurt out a deal; if she lets me pick a reasonable dress I'll try not to fight her in her coaching me to be more lady-like. She agrees. The speed at which we pick a dress and accessories following that has me leery of her. Trinket leaves after she suggests I trim my shaggy bangs out of my eyes.

My shower time has been greatly reduced by the dress madness but the creams; one for contusions, another for soreness help what the hot water didn't have time to. I am also impressed by the paper-thin big patch bandages the kit has; I'll be able to keep creamed up under these. I use the kit scissors to shorten my bangs from my nose to my eyes, then just play with the cutters for a second and know I'm stalling. Black pantyhose, a bra, black shoulder length fingerless gloves, a black belt and matching gray slippers are all supposed to go well with a modest, short sleeved Seam gray dress. I dress, look in the mirror and don't recognize myself, not even Madge's pin helps.

It is a physical pain that manifests in my heart to see a girl, weak and vulnerable like all the rest, in the mirror. I've tried so hard to be just me, to be strong and vivacious, to not let anything change me and this hurts. I sigh then tell myself to suck it up and go do good with my remaining life. I start by opening my parcel and take out three of the seven (wow seven!) cookies.

Hawthorne and Mr. Abernathy (open bottle in hand) are in the TV car talking when I come in and take my seat without word. Both stare a bit then shrug it off.

"Nice of you to finally make it, Sweetheart."

"Oh but I come with a gift so let it slide." I hand each a cookie and start on mine. It's still so soft and moist. The sweet flavor of honey and shreds of almonds remind me of all the good things back home. It settles me more than I imagined it would.

Our mentor shoves it in carelessly but after a few chews I know it has him. He slows down to savor it then finally swallows. "Mm. Never found those on the food cart before."

My sunniest smile breaks out across my face. "Those are from home, my family makes them and they are my favorite sweet. What do you think?" I turn to the hunter but he is just gazing at it. It hits me that he's probably never had a cookie in his life; cookies are a luxury and none more so than these because of the expense of the honey and almonds. Oh great, don't tell me I've just hurt his macho pride over being able to afford it or is he going to pull that no kindness crap like Catpiss. I open my mouth to nag him into just accepting it but he talks first.

"Why don't you want to be victor?"

Well that's easy, I glance at both of them before I answer, "I want to be a very specific kind of victor, one that didn't compete with a fellow tribute with a chance, a victor that did not kill anyone in the games and most of all a victor that did not get changed by either the Capitol nor the arena."

Older Seam eyes seem to understand but appear uneasy and younger ones look flat out confused. Um, how to explain it? "Do you remember Wilhelmina Knotts? Five years back, as a tribute she killed a 13-year-old boy and a 14-year-old girl and later betrayed her fellow tribute from 12."

Hawthorne nods. Of course he does, that was a big year for us; top 9 and people talking about how they never expected that from her.

"Everyone talked about her, couldn't believe her actions. But can you remember what everyone used to call her? Can you remember what she was like before the games?"

Here he shakes his head; she was merchant so it's no surprise.

"I was 11 then and I worshipped the ground she walked on. Will had been dating my oldest brother for 3 months before the games and she was so nice to me." She was the only girl I'd ever seen as close to strong and she had been a bit of a tomboy. I'd wanted to be her when I grew up. "She let the game change her and I don't want to do that. I want to be a victor only if it is on my terms or not at all."

Haymitch puts in, "Well Sweetheart that won't get you far." His face has a distant expression on it. He remembers her? "So no killing huh?"

I nod. "None whatsoever, I'll find away to suicide if it's a kill or be killed situation. I refuse to murder for the Capitol."

"So it's alright if I do?" Hawthorne bursts in angrily. His face has so many things I can't distinguish one feeling from another.

Sheepishly I say, "Frankly no, it's not alright for you or anyone to kill another person, let alone for the Capitol's amusement but you have people that need you to go home." I pause then explain. "And since I care about some of those people and I can't win my way I'll help you win your way."

The hunter sits back and just peers at me; he still does not believe me but at least he hasn't returned the cookie so far. I know Seam people are not normally so difficult; years of sports and fights have introduced me to more of their and their younger siblings characters. At least more than most merchants, so maybe this is a hunter thing? Finally he asks, "If you so don't want to change, don't want to be tainted, what's with the dress?"

I snort at him. "I'm practical enough to change at least my clothes and presentation, doesn't mean I like it." I feel a nasty chuckle bubble up and let it out. "I bet my mother will love every second of it."

The younger Seam roles his eyes at her mention then says, "I always knew you had fluff for brains, too many early hits to the head. And I still don't buy this act of yours. It's an elaborate lie of a semi-delusional mind or you believe your own lie in your completely messed up head, Mellark."

I scowl but before I can respond our mentor cuts in.

"First names boy, first names. Also speaking of lying I want to run through some lies with you and some improvisational acting. You need to be able to do more than just look good."

What comes next is a cross between humor, frustration and just plain sad. Mr. Abernathy keeps giving him lines to say, expects the appropriate expression, demeanor and sincerity from the context in the lines from Hawthorne when he repeats them. This knucklehead has always been on the up front side and not very emotionally forthcoming. In short, he sucks. In the improvised scenarios he is both better and worse; he can get the correct logical answer, even think up an embellishing lie but he can't deliver it for shit.

After a while our former victor gives up, declares an end then turns to me demanding, "Tell me you can do better, sweetheart."

I give him a worried look, tense my body up and add a note of pleading in my voice, "I don't know Mr. Haymitch, I've never lied in my life. My parents always said it was wrong. I'm not sure I can do it, especially not right when it's asked of me."

His head rears back and he cackles. "At last some talent!" he exclaims, "But leave off the mister."

So starts my portion of the round. He starts me with similar things he did with Hawthorne but he quickly switches to trickier situations, he demands more detail, more imaginative responses so I don't hold back. I am relaxed or tense when I need, I am open or evasive when called for and I bring up any emotion he wants. Yet most of all, when he starts to challenge me, redirect or repeat his questions to throw me off I seed truths and half-truths or my real perspective when I can to keep the lie straight in my head. It's the scenarios that I stumble over, not always picking the most sensible answer and having to try like hell to recover. I just sound like an odd ball by the end of them. At the finish of it all he rubs his brow and says it will be something to work on.

It's seven thirty now and breakfast is in half an hour. Haymitch sends me to work with Effie, Hawthorne back to his room and picks up the half full bottle. I immediately steal it from his hand and take it with me, calling back that this thing with Trinket will require liquid courage. I really should not have said anything because she is in the next car and heard me perfectly if the way her teal lips press together is any sign.

Shit. Now I have to do something I never, ever thought I would do; I have to apologize to a Capitol citizen. Fucking wretched shit. "Apologies Ms. Trinket," a slow burning starts in my throat but she does not look satisfied. Great. "I didn't mean that, but I don't think this will be an easy time for either of us," I hold up the booze, "Maybe you'll be the one that needs it." That better be enough because I'm not about to grovel to the likes of her.

Lilac eyes check me for honesty and whether they find it or not she starts, "Try not to use contractions in conversations that matter. Now show me how you walk."

Is she serious? Hawthorne, the prick, snickers and plops himself down to watch, he is soon joined by Mr. Abernathy. Jerks, both of them. I walk as I normally do, up and down the side of the car. She begins slowly, telling me to stand straighter then has me go a few times more. Then it is walk with my chin level to the ground, a few more times walking. Next it is with my shoulders back, and much walking in between. It all doesn't seem very much but it has maybe added an inch and some to my height. I think this is all a silly waste of time until she has me relax my hips, bring them a bit forward to sway as I walk. I promptly fall on my ass, almost bang my head into the wall and nearly make Hawthorne slip from is seat from laughing so hard. I flip him the finger only to have Ms. Manners tell me ladies don't do that. This time she turns to him, says a gentleman does not laugh at a lady and his time for training will come. That shuts him up. It takes me until breakfast not to topple myself every time I try to sway and walk at the same time.

Trinket continues our lesson during breakfast but it's much easier as these are things the witch has been trying to drill into me since I could toddle. When she sees how good my table manners are I'm not sure if she is please they are that refined or pissed that I don't like to use them. Really the only problem comes at portion control but I reply, "Yes I know, but please let this one go. I'm not a hunter so going into the games with a bit of fat on me will do me good." It stops her and the rest of the table. Oops, but asides from my breasts I really don't have much fat on me. I've always tried to keep myself lean and tough like a boy, I can't help my bone structure but did what I could to avoid my mother's padded curves. It's not the smartest thing to do in a district like 12, where a healthy portion of body-fat can save you from brief low points and is a sign of good life, but I don't have my brothers' stocky builds. On the plus side no one at the table makes any comment about my eating a lot of wholesome food, ignoring the rich stuff. In fact I think Hawthorne follows my lead for some reason.

The meal is just finishing as we enter the tunnel under the mountains. It's a weird feeling to realize so much rock/earth is overhead and it could pulverize the whole train in a fraction of a heartbeat. I'm so lost in thought over it I don't hear what our mentors says until my district partner is having a reaction to it.

"What?" I inquire.

"He said he wants us to be lovers." Hawthorne spits out.

"What The Fuck?"

Part 7 End.

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Side Note: None.


	8. Part 8

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and still looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 8

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I can feel my eyes almost popping out of my face because of how wide they are. I can feel a chill across my skin meaning I've gone very pale. Him and me? No way, no how, never going to be!

"Grow some decent ears boy!" Mr. Abernathy snipes, "I said it would look good if you were lovers in the Capitol's eyes. If you played it, it would look good for the camera."

Oh! That makes more sense, not much but it's enough to even out my thumping heart rate. This suggestion must be viewed tactically, viewed dispassionately and our mentor just means to help… but still… I look to Hawthorne and meet his gaze, in sync we shake our heads. "No-" "Not-" we both try, but I let him press on.

In a voice that sounds like the epitome of calm rationality he says, "Not a possible plan, it would fall apart during the family and friends interview. She and I have a certain level of well-known animosity going on. There are girls back home, one especially, that will be associated with me like that but not her. For her, with all the fights there aren't any boys like that." How the hell does he know that? Yet he continues, "I think it's just my little brother that jokes around with her and that's public as well."

Thinking of Rory makes my muscles stiffen and I don't want to say this but maybe it's better to than have it bite us in the rear later. If Rory denied a scheme like that on interview… bad would not begin to describe it. "Haw-Gale," I get out, "Rory came to visit me in the Justice Building and I no longer think he was joking." His eyebrows fly up, silently asks if I'm sure, I nod and then he is looking at me again as he was last night.

Haymitch keeps switching focus from him to me and back to him again; it takes me until now to realize he's been doing it since the recap. What for? "So you're the one with the history, boy but not her. You, sweetheart, are free with only a public joke on your side. Hmm." Way to make a person feel great, jerk. "A one-sided romance is better than none. Can you act like you love him Peeta?"

A joke. That is the first thing his questions registers as in my mind however I know he means it. Me, acting like I love somebody, let alone him? It does not fully compute in my head. My face flushes and my mouth works uselessly. It takes five attempts to get out, "Why?"

Mr. Abernathy sighs, "Because both your fighting isn't going to be enough to distinguish you. The careers are better, plain and simple, neither of you are like Odair and some tributes just out shine others in the interviews. However you two have good chemistry, you are familiar enough with each other that you could pull of some sort of scheme to get more attention. More attention means more opportunity for sponsors."

I think this over logically. Fact: I want to help Hawthorne. Fact: I meant it when I said I would do everything I can to keep him alive. Fact: Anything means this should be included. Shit! That does nothing to diminish the anxiety growing in the pit of my gut. I look into this man's eyes, behind the gruffness there is something earnestly hopefully in them thus I just have to answer equally honestly then. "I don't know if that will work but I'll do anything you recommend. You will have to be very specific in what and how you would like me to act because I," my cheeks heat so much, "have no experience in this girly sort of thing." And I was sure up until yesterday I never would! Holy bagels what am I getting into?

"What, don't I get a say? Because I don't see how a crush on me is going to do anything but make things more awkward for us." If his face is slightly pink no one will acknowledge it.

"Which is why I'm the mentor and you listen to me." He states with annoyance and authority, then goes on to add, "Capitol people love to relate to tributes and the more they relate to you the more money they send you in the arena."

The hunter mulls this over then finally says, "That's sick." And I couldn't agree more. They want to know us, to like us, to feel like they can relate to us but still cry for our deaths? Ew.

Suddenly the sunlight pours through the windows, we have emerged from the mountains and the train starts to slow down. Not much time now, so best to be all in or all out; being a pansy ass wimp won't cut it. I suck up any disgust I feel, push it away for later and ask, "What would I need to do first?" Out of the corner of my eye I see my fellow tribute just watch me. Yeah, I know I sound nuts, it certainly feels insane and I pray he doesn't make it worse.

"Learn to get along with him, stick by him and we sharpen up your acting and lying. We need that perfect by the time you interview with Cesar. The biggest obstacle there will be convincing everyone you and your friend were never a couple-"

"Couple?" Shit! That came out before I could stop it.

Older eyes narrow, he does not like being interrupted. "Yes, a couple. Until the reaping I thought you were the baker's runty son dating the mayor's daughter." I don't know if I should be proud of that or not (the smothered chortle beside me does not help). "I'm sure the rest of twelve thought you were already a lesbian couple, tomboy and at the reaping you sure looked like you were stepping in for your girlfriend."

"Oh," is the most intelligent thing that comes out of my mouth. My name should be mud. Was I the reason Madge did not get asked out on dates? Oops. I had always wondered why my pretty friend didn't have guys going after her.

"Yes, 'oh.' So as I was saying you'll need everyone to believe you and she were never an item and that you like the boy in three minutes."

I bite my lip and shake my head; it seems like an impossible task. "Three minutes isn't a lot of time; I'd have to be leading the conversation not Flickerman."

"It can be done, I'll get you there, but that's just set up. In the arena when you two hook up and-" he trails off when I start shaking my head vigorously, knowing better than to interrupt him twice. "What now, sweetheart?"

"I don't want to team up and H-Gale shouldn't have to team up with me, I'll only bring him down. I'll be a hindrance not a help. "

Stereo gray eyed looks of shock again. They don't get to say anything before Trinket is ordering us to wipe our mouths and to show her our teeth to make sure nothing is in them because the Capitol station is coming up. She straightens us up quickly and I notice for the first time Hawthorne is in shiny gray shoes, black dress pants, a shiny black belt and a fine gray shirt that matches his eyes. She has him tuck in his shirt and last minute fiddles with my bangs.

She sighs and says, "Too bad there weren't pearl earrings to go with you coming from coal and twelve."

I am one of the few girls from home with pierced ears; most parents see it as putting holes in the body and therefore mutilation. The witch did it to me when I was a baby, following the Capitol style. I had little tin studs in my ears until I was seven and got in my first big fight. Anyway I look at our escort to see if she is serious. "Ms. Trinket, you do know that pearls come from the oysters of district four, right?" At her blank look I continue, "And you know that diamonds come from coal but district one has the machinery for it, right?"

She stiffens, "Yes of course. Now turn the other way so the people can see you through that window."

Yeah right, she knew. Why was I leery of her again? Then there are Capitol people and cameramen abruptly on the other side. My friendly smile is on and I wave at them. Hawthorne stiffens next to me but when Trinket presses him for something he at least smirks at them. It is a cocky and sexy smirk, so it's good enough. When the train reaches the station there are a mix of reporters, cameramen and peacekeepers on the platform. As Mr. Abernathy swears and says that they shouldn't be there, as she gives Hawthorne a verbal crash course in posture and an idea hits me. I don't have time to clear it with our mentor as the doors open but oh well.

The reporters and cameras try to swarm us like at our departure but here the peacekeepers make a three-foot gap between.

"Volunteer! Volunteer? Anything to say to the cameras, volunteer?"

Naturally the assholes hadn't bothered to learn my name. Still it's now or never. I break away from the group, face the cameras and smile. "Yes I want to say something to my friend if she is watching. It's something I forgot to say. Please keep smiling Madge, don't lose your smile no matter what. We've been best friends since we were five years old so I know you can do it if you try." I sweep my eyes over all the press people, say, "Thank you for that opportunity," nod in thanks and return to my group. Once we walk through some massive doors and leave the crowd behind Haymitch spins to pin me with a hard stare. Oops.

"Should I not have done that?"

"Not without consulting me first, sweetheart." His voice is stern but his eyes aren't too angry.

"It won't happen again," I promise. Neither Seam male seems to believe that one.

The trip to the Remake Center by car isn't bad or long, the same can't be said for the process inside. It is severely unpleasant to be naked with these Capitol whackjobs looking and most especially touching me. I want to lash out, punch them, kick them and curse at them but I can't. Before this nobody would have touched me so without painful consequences and I detest being at these fuckers' mercy.

It doesn't matter that they say nice things about how I keep my nails (short and round for fighting), how neat my cuticles are (again for fighting, so they don't spilt) or how undamaged my hair is (from keeping it in a near permanent braid under my hat). It doesn't matter that I terrify them with my bruises (which are fading fast from that medicine) or my numerous scars all over (from fighting and stitching myself back up). It doesn't matter that they are commenting that I've made their job faster on my legs and armpits by shaving so well.

What matters is that they say it in that awful Capitol accent of theirs while they touch me. What matters is that these demented freaks have touched tribute after tribute and cheered in sadistic glee for the tributes' tears, pain, blood and death are now touching me. What matters is that the pain they are inflicting on me now is but a faction of what they would be happy to dish out to me. What matters is that they will be hoping for my body, that they are touching now, to be beaten, stabbed, torn and ripped to pieces. What matters is that the more they touch me and the more they talk the less I seem to be able to find my breath.

I'm breathing is a bit fast, I know it is yet thankfully it is not so bad as to call their attention. I need to calm down and get my mind together. Abruptly I hear curses and yelling and the second I realize it is Hawthorne my composure is gone. They are touching him too, hurting him and longing for his agonizing death. No! No! No! These hideous horrid creatures should not be allowed to touch us so and still demand our torturous demise.

My breathing is too fast now and I have to sit up. Air! I'm not getting enough air and my mind is jumbled. Distantly I hear Mr. Abernathy yelling in the other room where my fellow tribute is. Oh my god he supports this! My breathing picks up another notch and suddenly hands are reaching for me, weird wretched Capitol hands. No! I twist away, leap off the table, grab a robe, slip it on and stand in the corner. I want to hurt them, I want to defend myself but I can't. Haymitch hinted before we parted the Capitol may hurt my family and Madge if I hurt their citizens. I feel so helpless! So goddamn dizzy too! Distantly I hear them calling for him and a well-groomed version of him enters with the hunter on his heals a second later.

Our mentor's eyes go wide and he might do something but Hawthorne just marches up to me, slaps his hand over my mouth and pinches my nose shut. Before I have a chance to panic he commands, "Look me in the eyes Mellark," and I do. His beautiful gray irises are hard, strong and penetrating. He lets go of my nose and I try to slow down my breathing to match his steady breaths. It takes a while, longer than I would like. Tentatively he removes his hand and whispers, "What happened?"

I whisper back even quieter since they are still here, just a few feet back from us, "Not allowed to hit or say no to the fuckers and they just touching my with their filthy Capitol hands."

He nods as if he understands perfectly and asks, "You okay now?"

I take a moment to think it over before I nod too, "Yeah, not sure what the hell that was though. I've never done that before."

"Called a panic attack," He backs up then half-orders half-challenges, "Don't girl out on me now, Mellark."

I scowl hard at him. Of all things he could have said to me! I am pissed now, as I always am when he calls me out on being a girl. Worst of all I can't refute him because freaking out over wretches like them touching me is weak and girly. I look over to the freaks, bark, "You all ain't touching me any more!" look back to him and mutter, "It's under control, Hawthorne."

He chuckles, goes back to Mr. Abernathy who does that switching from him to me thing. He shrugs, they leave; now that feels a bit surreal and pointless. Plus, I'm sure it all must have looked even more ridiculous than it felt.

The Capitol freaks make a move forward to me but I tighten my robe and form a fist. "I meant it! You aren't touching me, if there is more stuff to be done just tell me what to do and I'll do it." They look highly upset about this but the cowards don't try to come at me. They squawk about getting a peacekeeper and about the barbaric habits of District 12. To be called that by these demented nasal drips is a bit more than my frayed nerve bear so I snap, "Call the peacekeeper if you like or better yet scurry away like frightened mice if you're so scared."

As soon as the words leave my mouth I know it was too much. I should not have said such things to enemies, they seem like the witch who lives for gossip and that gave them more ammunition against me. Their shocked and uncomprehending faces confirm this; I doubt anyone has ever spoken to them like this. I sigh and realize I'm on my own; oh Haymitch is going to be so mad at me.

I get out of my robe, climb the table, grab the hose and wash off whatever gunk they put on me. That is the last thing they had talked about before I flipped out. Once I'm done I dismount the table, walk to the wall of products they have and start reading labels. A lot of these things are Capitol versions of what Mrs. Undersee has. The mayor always tries to get her nice things on special days to liven her up and because she doesn't use them much they seem to last forever. In one of her few attempts to make me more feminine she tried to explain the 'what' and the 'why' of her products to me. I did listen well to her, not because I cared for the stuff but because it was always so different to see her alert, focused and semi-happy.

I pick a bottle that says words like 'scrub' and 'deep exfoliate,' the instructions are a bit beyond me but I figure out enough to spread the goop all over me. It stings to rub in and keeping it on for the full ten minutes is no picnic. My skin is light pink when the crap washes off me and highlights a few stray hairs on my arms and upper thighs. I grab the tweezers, pluck myself and privately think it is twisted for the Capitol to want us to look pre-pubescent with the lack of body hair. Next I find a cream like the one from the train, one cream that will get rid of scars and bandages; those are slathered on where needed and I begin to wrap up.

"What are you doing?" asks the eldest woman whose name I didn't bother to learn.

Damn, it was so nice pretending they did not exist. There is a huge desire to ignore them but it's not wise and would invite more trouble than I already have. "I don't really know, I'm just guessing." I answer honestly and wonder if I've done something wrong when the skin under the scar starts to burn. Maybe that's what it's supposed to do? Anyway I finish wrapping up, start going through the bottles, and find 16 different kinds of matching shampoos and conditioners. Oh freakish god of delirium please let this be a mistake of my eyes! Nope! A second glance shows there really are that many types. I start reading the backs of labels and at least the count goes down to 6 variations.

The skin under the scar cream is really burning now; I rip off the covers away to see my skin is hot pink under it. Oops, that can't be right. Thankfully the cream washes off easily and though vibrantly pink the skin no longer looks raised by scarred puckering. There is residual burning on my fading scars but the rest of my skin is starting to protest too so time to find a lotion. I pick a gel, slop it on and after a second it stings like all hell! Shit! My teeth grit as I try to re-read the label to figure out if it was wrong but then a soothing sensation takes over. So it's supposed to be twenty minutes with this on? Easily done.

Going back to the hair stuff I pick the three types I understand the most, mix them and start washing in the sink. Nothing seems to be itching or falling out so it must a good sign. I am just about to rinse out the conditioner mix when the door bursts open and a normal non-Capitol man walks in. "Um, hello" I say automatically then regret it instantly when I see the gold paint on his eyes; he's a Capitol citizen too.

Part 8 End.

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Side Note: Sorry for the long wait, but life reared its ugly head up and bit me. I'll try to be more regular in the future. Oh and I still need a beta! The grammar for this story is really hard on me so some I really hope to get a beta soon!


	9. Part 9

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and still looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 9

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Apparently the man is my actual stylist, named Cinna Lautrec, the freaks are under his command. He puts on an easy smile and asks me what I'm doing so I just shrug and say, "Making sure they don't touch me more, mister." I'm not sure what his reaction to that is because his smile doesn't change and his eerie calm is hard to read. He then asks an assistant, Venia, what I've done and what more needs to be done.

The bitch calls me a very silly girl, says that I'm using the harshest, most potent things (the only stuff with intelligible clear labels and instructions!), begrudgingly admits that over all I'm doing alright (Ha! It's not so hard you fussy shit bags!) but then shoots out a million suggestions she has and where to go from here.

Mr. Lautrec just stands there smiling for a second, taking it all in and looking at me then says, "My you are an interesting one." Again he is so calm there isn't a clue to what he is thinking. "Please follow Venia's advice and I'll be back in 40 minutes." There isn't a chance to protest before he leaves or the bitch starts ordering me around.

I sigh but decide as long as they aren't touching me I can agree. So many things happen after that point it's a blur. After she figures out to explain what she wants clearly, before I start, she and I get into a fast rhythm. I'm skilled with my hands and I've used Madge's weird blow dryer a few times so what she orders doesn't take much. The last thing she has me do is wash off the gel and the cream; it's a shock how soft and healed my skin is left. Very, extremely, awfully reluctantly I murmur thanks to her and get a clean robe.

We definitely were fast because the freaks leave 13 minutes before the stylist returns; when he learns this he stares more. He asks me to leave with him, I do after grabbing my things and inquire about Hawthorne, he responds, "He'll be in there for a while yet, you were unusually quick."

I think his smile rises a bit higher at the corners but I have no idea if that's a good thing or not. It's very odd for me not to get a read on a person, sure lots of times I don't understand them or they have too many emotions for me to pick out; however, from him… absolutely nothing. The hallway we are in seems so long and it makes me edgy to get further and further from him here. "Can I check in with him once he is done?"

"Are you two close?" he asks in a light tone.

What the hell does he care for? I try to keep my voice polite even if my words aren't. "You didn't answer my question, Mr. Lautrec."

"Neither did you, Miss Mellark." Utter politeness tags me back.

He leads us into a room, surprising a Capitol woman inside, she spins to face us and catches herself on the window behind. Well actually she really surprises me since she is the first citizen I've seen that is actually beautiful. Her face, tan skin and clothes are normal and if not for her long forest green hair with thin navy blue stripes she could come from the districts.

"Portia, what are you doing here? I thought you were taking the next room."

She comes closer and smiles sheepishly "Yes sorry Cinna. I just like the view from here better," then she gets a good view of me, "Oh my you two are ready already?" A concerned look crosses her face. "Is my tribute waiting for me too?"

He chuckles. "No, it seems he will be some time so if we could please have the room?"

She starts grabbing her things, saying "Of course, of course."

Did she mean Hawthorne though? "Please wait, can you tell me if you're the other stylist for 12?"

She giggles, smiles then answers, "Oh yes, I'm Portia Porter nice to meet you Peeta Mellark. I will be the stylist for Mr. Hawthorne. Now if you'll excuse me I'll go and let you two start."

She exits before I can say anything more and now I wish she hadn't. I instantly liked her better than Mr. Lautrec, if only because she is very easy to read, but if she really is assigned to my teen companion maybe it will be better for him.

My stylist asks me to disrobe so he can see me without the goop on and circles a few times. Then he asks that I flex my arms and legs and tense my back and stomach, I do but don't see the point. When he asks about my scars (a lot which seem too faded for me to find suddenly), I start listing the injury from the fight that made it. I am very proud of each scar, they were signs I was not afraid to fight even if it hurt me; it's strange not to have the older ones there.

Finally he lets me re-robe, has us sit across from each other and pushes a button for food to be lifted in. I'm not really hungry, especially for this rich food but I thank him and eat anyway; it's fat for the arena. After a tick it occurs to me to tell him too. "I guess you should know that I plan to gain weight before the games start so it might be good to keep track of my measurements."

He smiles, "A smart plan, it should help you in getting home."

I almost choke on a spoonful of pudding. After getting myself under control I just lie "I hope so." Somehow I get the feeling that it is not the reply he was hoping for. Well what does he expect me to say to him?

"Portia and I already have your opening ceremonies outfits but has your mentor said anything about your strategy for your interview?"

"Nothing that is set in stone yet." The words are evasive but I don't want to tell him Mr. Abernathy's under construction plan or my plan. Even if he seems and sounds almost normal he is still Capitol scum that works for these games thus I don't trust him worth a damn.

"Who are you hoping to go home to? Besides your girl of course." He truly is a master at controlling his voice because the question sounds more conversational than nosy to my ears.

Shoot. Haymitch is right; everyone thinks that about us. I only answer him so maybe when he gossips he can set things straight for me. "Madge is my best friend, we've been friends from the first day of school but she is someone I would very much like to see again. My family and a few friends would be nice also." Technically it's all the truth however he seems to sense there is something wrong with my words and looks at me for another long moment.

Completely randomly he ask, "How do you feel about fire?"

What does that have to with anything? None-the less I am very familiar with fire due to having a father like mine. "My family owns the town bakery," he scoots forward on his seat, "so it's a useful thing for baking and cooking to me." If his smile turns a little creepy it may just be my imagination.

It is hours later that I see why he was so interested in my answer; synthetic fire, huh? I'm not scared; I've been burned enough times by the real thing to know that particular pain and the flaming pieces seem easily removable (though I might loose my braid if it comes to that). I guess I would be nervous if I didn't know the Capitol had such awesome medicines. Hawthorne on the other hand appears to be a stiff, scowling kind of nervous.

"H-Gale, even at it's worst it won't be so bad, I've actually lit my sleeves on fire three times, all when I was younger yes but each time it was easy to put out. If it all goes to hell we'll still be the talk of the ceremony and if it doesn't sponsors will notice. Plus the medicines they have here make it worth any risk." He does not relax with my words until I promise to rip the fire off him if he'll do the same for me.

Time seems to be speeding by now, with the stylist putting just a bit of makeup on us (I can't tell them to stop with both Mr. Abernathy and Trinket there) and positioning us, with Haymitch telling us to hold hands and how to react to the masses and with our escort giving us a quick lesson in proper posture. That last one I don't think is important until I scan around. Every single Capitol citizen has perfect posture, only some of the mentors do and the only tributes that do are from District 1. I point this out to the hunter, watch his eyes go wider as he notices and I make sure to thank Ms. Trinket sincerely for her help. It seems to make her ecstatic.

The music is well under way and District 5 has just left when I remember. "Madge's pin! Please let me have it." Everyone looks over me and in this skintight matching costume set I know it is impossible. There is no good place to put it and there aren't pockets.

"Pin it to the front of her boot, the chariot will hide it." Hawthorne offers and I give him a grateful smile. He nods once and turns forward again.

When District 11 leaves Mr. Lautrec lights us, it works as planned and I pretend I did not just feel my hand be squeezed powerfully. The second we start for the City Circle we wave and smile. From the corner of my view I see him switching between a cocky smirk and a casual smile. I am beaming my friendliest smile and keep mouthing 'hello' and 'thank you' to the roaring cheers we are getting. I don't remember a time when our district has been called like this or when our previous tributes' names were being shouted like now. I don't know what makes me sicker, that they will still demand our gory deaths in a few days after all these warm yells of admiration or that it takes clothes and costumes and such superficial things to rile them up so.

As this procession goes on I realize that the masses, the cameras and even some of the commentators on the split screens are more than riled, they are frenzied for us and it doesn't stop even as the President (douche bag) Snow gives his stupid speech. Is this overexcited reaction really a good thing?

Finally we enter the Training Center, leave the public sight and get mobbed by the goddamn freak show. The prep teams for the both of us are chattering and grabbing at us so much I lose my temper and howl at them to back up! Mine don't look surprised, more like annoyed that I'm raining on their parade but his team looks frozen, stuck between shock and fear. This of course gets me a disapproving look from all four adults (Haymitch you traitor).

They all look about ready to launch into a scolding when Hawthorne interrupts. "We should get going and celebrate elsewhere." He makes a discrete sweep of his hand and the four notice all the stares, glares and open hostility coming from some of the other district teams.

We leave to the elevators where our mentor makes me apologize to the prep teams before we separate from them. Ms. Trinket takes over from there and scolds me the whole way up. It's a bit embarrassing as Districts 9 and 10 are in the lift with us. When we get to our floor Hawthorne immediately leaves to find a bathroom to get the make up off him. I move to do the same when my name is called.

"Miss Mellark, a word in private if you please," Mr. Lautrec words are overly polite but his voice is upset, how much so is difficult to gage.

I glance at the elder Seam male but he nods me off with my stylist. Following him leads me up stairs, through a dome, around the roof and to a windy garden that chimes. This place is a good one for a quiet conversation and it's a deadly sort of beautiful up here. Do all 12 tributes get to see this sight?

"You lied to me." He starts in a whisper, "You didn't tell me about your and Haymitch's plans." I just nod. "I had to hear about it from Portia."

I don't feel the slightest bit of remorse, "Well then Hawthorne shouldn't have told her."

"Haymitch informed her after she left us."

This unsettles me, why would he do that. I thought my fellow tribute had let something slip not that they were actively informed. "He didn't seek you out to inform you though." There is suspicion that leaks into that come back, as if he specifically wasn't included.

His smile is still there, "No but he confirmed it when I asked during the trip, he thought you would have told me."

So he actually trusts them? Why would he trust Capitol stylists, and new ones to boot? I mean neither had been in stylist interviews the years before so I know they are new; I would know because stylists fascinate the witch. I don't understand that decision and for the first time wonder if an old drunk's judgment is sound. Well too late now. "Then I'll let him keep you in the loop, Mr. Lautrec."

His shoulders drop minutely, but his voice is that same steady calm. "We are so repulsive to you." It hangs in the air without reply. It's a statement that would be a lie to deny and an act of meanness to confirm. "I am your stylist, I am here to help you and your goals. You are supposed to trust me like I trust you. It is one of the only comforts of the games."

The wind picks up and it gets cold. I just want to leave because he asks the impossible and lies while he does it. He is Capitol and I am District, there will never be trust between us. To pacify him I throw this out, "I will not lie to you anymore but I won't always answer you either."

More watching me, then "You are free to start trusting me back any time you like," and he leads me back down.

I thought that was the end of it but it seems all Capitol citizens are staying for dinner, the recap and permanently in Ms. Trinket's case. Before I can get away from any of the adults Porter gives me two bags, one for Hawthorne and one for me. They both have three jars of cream in them and mine has my things.

The sleeping quarters are huge, the closet is huge, the bathroom is huge and all very high tech. It takes a short though frustrating time to figure out the mechanical closet enough to get a gray shirt and dark pants like on the train. Straight away I change; it is a relief to be out of the bra, in my bindings and with Madge's pin on again. Now it's just the make up to get rid of.

I'm washing my face when it happens so I snort water in surprise. In the mirror the back wall to my large bathroom slides away to a deep, dark void with a shadowy person standing there. I twist around to an equally stunned Hawthorne on the other side in his own bathroom. I blink a few times to get a clear view and see tracks along the borders of the wall, ceiling and floor. "Is it meant to do that?"

"I don't know. I was just trying to get the damn lights on again." He fiddles with a button panel.

"Can you put it back?" I would very much not like to share a bathroom like this.

"Maybe?" The lights restart but the panel begins shooting little sparks and makes fizzing noises.

Shit! Yeah that's just what we need. "I'll get Mr. Abernathy. Oh," I lob his bag, "Porter wants you to have this." I really hope he didn't break this place… Though I have to wonder what other walls slide out?

Our mentor sees, quickly turns on both showers and starts laughing. It is a low crafty laugh of a madman but there is a cunning gleam to his gray orbs. Grinning, he grabs each of us to him and whispers, "This is a stroke of luck kids, I was wondering how to get around the no extra training rule and these bathrooms are the only place they don't have cameras or mics." My viscera freeze to hear that but he goes on. "You'll still have to worry about your rooms' microphones but the shower noise or some music will drown them out. And with this space you can train here, share information here and work things out here."

"What do you mean train here? And what information?" Says the younger Seam, somehow having the competence of mind to ask when I'm still stuck on sharing a bathroom like this. How do we stop the other from walking in on us on the toilet?

"You'll see in training stations tomorrow, there are skills one of you may know more than the other and I don't want the more skilled of you giving away your hand. Best save your top talents for the private session. Then there is a skill like fighting. Sweetheart you need instruction but boy-"

"Gale." Hawthorne interrupts.

The elder Seam rolls his eyes, then, "Fine. Boy-Gale, you don't need teaching like that. You're fast on the uptake. If she can learn it, she can show you and you both get better without tipping your hand. Now sweetheart, you'll have to hold back a lot of strength with the combat instructor but perfect and learn what you can. Work on speed and-."

"Wait, I don't like this, won't she be showing off a skill to the other tributes if she does this?"

Yes. That thought had occurred to me. But then I think of the angry looks the other districts gave us down stairs. "Better they see me than you Gale, you're the one we want to come out victor."

"Peeta," he says. It is the first time he has ever said my name and it sends electricity all through me.

Part 9 End.

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Side Note: Hey & hello, I'm posting this part early to help make up for the long wait. Sorry about that again. The part after this will be posted in around a week but not much more. Oh and I still need a beta. Grammar ain't my forte and I'm sure my work is riddled with errors I just don't see so I'm really, really, really hoping for that beta!


	10. Part 10

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 10

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"No, it's perfect." I insist. "And now that I know there is combat trainer you can't stop me from going." I smile at him. "I'm going to be getting better Gale, are you really going to let me pull far ahead of you?" It's childish to goad him, but I love the way his jaw tenses at just the idea. I continue in a more mature way. "Besides we'll help each other to see how well I'm learning. Oh," I point to my bag on the counter. "We can even hide the evidence of it if we use the creams!"

"Then it's settled then. Time for dinner." Haymitch declares and shuts off the showers before Hawthorne can get another word out. He motions the hunter to back his way and leads me out through my bathroom and bedroom.

Dinner is served and although it is delicious it's the strategies that I'm more interested in. For a moment an argument between us of District 12 pops up. Hawthorne is very much against my hopes to help him survive though he seems to believe I honestly mean it now. Mr. Abernathy and I disagree with him on that point. I am against teaming with him in the arena, I truly think I will be a burden to him. He and Mr. Abernathy disagree with me on this point, the hunter because he insists I won't be trouble for him and our mentor because he thinks our interactions could get more sponsors. Haymitch calls us both idiots for not agreeing with him on all points.

Ms. Trinket tries to break it up by tell us how she and our cleaned up mentor were out chatting us up. Apparently there was a perspective sponsor they talked to before the opening ceremony. She says how they couldn't go into detail because nothing is fully set but that my station snippet was well received and they both helped further clear up the understanding about Madge and me. She brags how she told people that coal, under the right pressure forms diamonds that can come from places other than District 1 and adds that losing our barbaric tendencies is doing that for us. It does shut us all up but mostly because we of 12 are mad at her for that.

Mr. Lautrec and Porter seem to catch on that none of us are pleased by that last bit and try to redeem Ms. Trinket by reminding her that tomorrow's meetings will be made easier after how well we did tonight. She nods and vigorously promises to try to rope in meetings between Haymitch and the top sponsors of the careers. She also promises if we keep up the good work she well try to make us the continuous talk of the Capitol. Her promises seem grandiose and though I know it is better for her job if we do well and have sponsors for the game, even our mentor seems glad about this. Could she really be doing us such a favor?

The meal is pleasant after that until a girl server places down a cake and Hawthorne spits out his drink from looking at her. His gray eyes are wide, full of recognition and apprehension. She seems to either knows him too or is just very freaked out by him but she just turns tail and runs away. The adults are tense and watching him with scrutiny.

"You can't know her, boy, she's an Avox. You can't know her." There is something in the way Mr. Abernathy says 'can't' that makes it clear it's better not to know her.

The younger Seam understands loud and clear, "Yeah, you're right she is just… hot that's all."

I know he is lying but it bothers me to hear him complement her.

"She's off limits. An Avox is a person whose tongue has been removed as a criminal punishment or for treason. Don't make friends with her or any of the others." These words are the last he or anyone utters during dinner and I have to admit it is a struggle to finish. Each time I move my tongue or an Avox server does something I cringe inside.

Talk resumes for the replay though it's mainly Ms. Trinket gushing in awe all over again, she can't stop complementing the stylists for the fashion and us for how well we stood and acted. Without the screaming of thousands of sociopaths around me I can take in the magnitude of how cool we look. Or should I say hot? But then the others and I notice something too, as well as having smiled my 'friendly smile' and having waved happily I kept glancing at Hawthorne. It was not much, not often and not oblivious but my smile got a bit warmer after I did. Shit! I didn't even notice I did that back then I just remember being happy they were cheering his name.

"That was a nice touch, Sweetheart!" Our mentor exclaims, "Could have been a bit more obvious but nice improvisation!"

I only nod as it is taking my everything not to blush right now. I turn to my fellow tribute to congratulate him and stop. His face is neutral but his eyes look troubled. He is likely still thinking about that poor girl or maybe it's just the entirety of our situation hitting him? Either way he is clearly feeling low. "Hey Gale, go grab a jacket and come see the garden on the roof with me."

"What?" he says almost dazed.

"Get a jacket, the wind's nasty but the air and the plants will do us good. So please?"

He looks at the adults, spots another Avox in the corner, winces and gets up. "Yeah, alright."

Everyone else watches us leave and I think that's the end of it until, "You two go to bed after you come back down. Separately!"

Damn that old bastard! My face heats as I get a coat and two small blankets from my closet. Thankfully neither he nor I say a thing on the way up. We both ignore the bright Capitol city with its lights (I bet they don't have to go on reduced power from 11 to 5 in the morning like at home) and just sit, wrapped in blankets in the garden.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"Nah." His answer is light but his Seam orbs are stormy.

He sits facing the wind on a broad bench and I sit a few feet away just listening to the hung wind chimes. I don't know what to say to make him feel better. If I even should? We were never friends; when we weren't trading, weren't throwing sarcasms, weren't watching-over the other's fight or running into each other on errands in town, we didn't interact. Magde and he interacted some and I would try to interact with Catpiss; not really him and me. He is the popular Seam stud and I am the reject his little brother liked to tease. Still he is one of the few boys outside of my grade, sports and fights that would talk to me so maybe I owe him? Finally I decide on something. I walk over the other side of his bench and sit with my back pressing into his.

He doesn't move but he grunts, "Mellark?"

"Well you're blocking the wind anyway, be useful Hawthorne." I respond. His larger frame blocks the cool wind well though his back is stealing my warmth.

We just sit for a long time, lost in our separate thoughts then he snorts and asks, "So what, we're friends now?" There is a nasty bite to his tone.

"No." I don't think we will ever be friends. "But we could be partners."

"No. Partners look out for each other evenly." He has so much conviction in his voice I'm sure it's a put down somehow. "You'd have to let me help you to be partners."

Partners? I think of what Catpiss said, put it together with what he said and understand. Partners help the other survive. "Then no. Not partners. Want to be teammates like in gym class?"

"You're an idiot, Mellark."

There is a bite in the way he said that, which I don't take kindly too. "Maybe I am, maybe you are, maybe everyone is. Are you done sulking up here, Hawthorne? Can you do it inside where it's warm?"

"You're the one that wanted to come up here!" He snaps.

"I thought the sound of the chimes would help you, since they didn't lets go it's freezing up here." I retort.

We march down no better then we were going up and the only good thing is I find a hallway bathroom. We agree to take turns with 'our bathroom' and the hall one. A quick game of odds and evens forces him (Ha! Loser!) to take the hallway restroom and I scurry off to use mine while he's busy.

After a (very confusing) shower, while pulling back the covers for bed I remember the stylists' gift for me. I spread out my parcel, a scar removal cream, a bruise cream, a cream for soreness, paper-thin bandages and some written instructions. As disinclined as I am to put them on it makes it a real chore to do so. I crawl into bed, grumbling about stupid Capitol aesthetics and superficiality, fully intending to rant about their inanity for the whole night but the mattress practically swallows me in fluffy, warm, downy goodness. It's all over.

In the morning, after what might have been the best sleep of my life the only thing that gets my brain going is the sight of the redheaded Avox girl in my room. Half of me wants to talk to her, just to find out that something so cruel is not true, the rest of me wants to ignore her completely because I know it's true. 'Suck it up!' I order myself and speak, "Whatever it is you're doing, thank you very much for it but could I please have some privacy while I get ready?"

She nods and leaves absolutely silently. Holy bagels, is she not allowed to make any noise? That thought is just creepy and hurries me through everything. In dressing I find what the poor girl was doing here, she was leaving me two sets of training uniforms. I'm just glad it's pants! Reluctantly I leave my bindings in favor for a bra. Oh how proud the witch would be! Luckily it hooks in the front or I'd have no clue how to get it on. The whole outfit is much improved when I note that the double-layered high collard is perfect for the pin; it plus my sensible braid and I'm ready to go.

It's six in the morning so naturally my teammate is up and eating breakfast thus I join him. Soon after a hurried Ms. Trinket comes out talking into a phone that seems to have a ludicrously long cord. She wastes no time serving herself, then sits with us while she speaks in quickly in her Capitol accent. It's funny to see her; her face is scowling hard but her voice and the few words I catch are sweet as honey and bright as sunshine. When she hangs up she mutters, "twit." Then greets us with a genuine smile.

I can't help inquiring what it was all about; I shouldn't have.

"No worries dear, I won't let a twit assistant like her stop me. I will get her to schedule Haymitch in if I have to steal her appointment book myself! But that is just one potential sponsor, I've already gotten 6 confirmed appointments and I'm just a bit into my list. No worries dear, this is a big, big, big day and by the end of it I'll make sure all the sponsors know your names!" When she starts eating she is noticeably faster than normal and is back on her phone and walking away as soon as she is done.

I have to remind myself harshly that she is just doing her job, that she is working for herself in the long run, so as not to feel a bit touched at her effort.

When we are done, we just sit there, unsure what to do and when our mentor will arrive. We give it an hour before I suggest we wake Mr. Abernathy as we don't know what time training starts or even where. It takes a while just to find his room; we knock loudly to no answer then decide, hell with it and go in.

He is a mess! He's laying on top of the covers, in a small pool of dried vomit, still in the clothes from last night, reeking of liquor from a few feet away and dead to the world. Dear freakish god of delirium please let this be an optical illusion. It's not and now I know better than to let him have a night to himself. I grab his arm to start shaking him and immediately have to dodge the knife he swings at me. What the fuck? He sleeps with that thing? Sleeps is right, it turns out, because that slash was reflexive and he isn't conscious. There is something seriously wrong with this man and if I wasn't this upset right now I know I'd be worried.

This time when I move to snatch the blade, my teammate stops me, points to the glass of water by the bed and does a tipping motion. It's tempting but I want to be mad at him, not the other way around thus I find his bathroom, wet a small hand towel and toss it on his face. That does the trick in waking him up; however, he doesn't seem in his right mind. Now I really wish I had taken the knife.

Moving slowly I pick up the glass and offer it to him. "You should drink Haymitch."

He peers at me blearily and sputters, "May, oh may silly, yore ear."

Wow, he is really out of it. "Gale can you go grab another glass of water and a cup of coffee for him?" I bend down to him since he doesn't seem hostile just this moment. "Can you drink this for me, Mr. Abernathy?"

He blinks at Hawthorne's departing back then at me. "Oh," he says then scowls, "it's just you."

Well hello to you too, Mr. Volatile. I keep my face and voice even as I ask again, "Please have some water."

He takes the glass, sloppily half chugs half spills it and does the same with one the younger Seam brings up. After a moment he asks, "You put something in there besides water, boy?"

He shrugs, "Water, salt, sugar and a bit of alcohol. Now drink your coffee and get up you old booze hound."

Instead he reclines back down, closes his bloodshot eyes and snipes, "Leave it on the night stand, you moronic fuck, get out and take the fake with you."

"So you can what?" I snap. "Stay there in your own puke? Not going to happen. Now can you make it on your own to the bathroom or do you need help?"

He finally seems to become aware of mess he is in and at least rolls over to the clean side of the bed. This puts him in facing the wall clock, which he frowns at, squints at then frowns again. "You Ruddy Shits!" he snarls "It's 7:20 in the morning! I don't even need to see you 'til ten for training! Uh! Get out of here! Hit the basement on your own for all I care!"

A flame of anger sparks inside me. No, oh no nope no! This jerk-wad does not get to crap out on us just because he is hung over! I lunge at him, ready to haul the lush into the shower and deluge him in icy water but an arm snags around my waist halting me. Looking over my shoulder I see Hawthorne shake his head.

It's very weird to be pulled out of the room by him, the disorientation does not stop until he releases me and I snap out of it enough to query "Why not?"

"He was bound to do this anyway, it was just a matter of time." His fingers make a 'follow me' motion so I do. "I've seen him enough times at the Hob, buying whites from Ripper so I know he is a hopeless alcoholic. How he hasn't pickled his guts yet is anyone's guess though I'm surprised he lasted this long sober."

"What?! He's really abandoning us?! And you knew he would?! Why didn't you say something sooner?!" I yell. Every single cell in my body wants to run back in and do anything to make it not true. In fact I take a step to do just that when he catches my arm. Why is he so grabby today? As I open my mouth to tell the idiot to let me try to fix the drunk a door opens and Ms. Trinket, phone still to her ear, comes out to shush me.

She must see my distress because she lifts a neon pink eyebrow in question.

"He's drunk!" I blurt.

That seems to be all the explanation she needs as her face deforms into a funny Capitol scowl. "Slorcus love, I'll have to call you back to confirm that scheduling, do you mind?" She says jovially into the phone. "No? Good, toodles love." She hangs up, fast steps to our mentor's door, mutters "Over his dead body," throws the door open, and shrieks his name at such an ear splitting volume that we instinctively run away to preserve our hearing.

My teammate leads the way and I don't care where we are going; my smile may rip my face in half but I also don't care about that. I've decided that I may like Ms. Effie Trinket now and I definitely will if she can get Mr. Abernathy back on track. It is the sliding of the silver doors that jars the understanding of where exactly he has taken me. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"We. Why don't we go down and check out the training stations? He said it's just in the basement and we have until 10 anyway."

I gape at him. What the hell is he thinking?

"Do you really want to just stay here, doing nothing on the chance she can sort him out in time?"

"Ye-Nnn, mayb-be…" I sputter. My fingers go to the pin and I can at least talk again. "Maybe if we help Ms. Trinket we can get him back to mentoring before 10 and we can go down early anyway?" It's a weak answer but it's all I have. I had not realized just how much the idea of Gale Hawthorne becoming Victor and bettering our home had given me stability and hope. I won't kill so I need something good to come out of my death. My fingertips trace the little bird. If Mr. Abernathy quits that hope feels more remote and the idea of just being a waste like his previous tributes rattles me.

The hunter just narrows his beautiful eyes at me, pushes the elevator button, rebuffs rebelliously, "I'm going, you can stay here if you like. I'll be back at 9:30," and steps in when it comes.

He doesn't call me a coward but I know he's thinking it. That does bother me but what perturbs me greatly is that he really will go alone. Shit! I jump in, just avoiding the metal doors closing behind me. I glare at my teammate and say "Well we're both idiots now."

He smirks; looking handsome enough and smug enough (from provoking me) it should be illegal.

Part 10 End.

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Side Note: The following parts of the story may take longer to post because I'm thinking of double posting again. It will move the story faster to have two parts at once even if it slows the update rate. I'm not sure I will and am just playing this by ear but I wanted to give you all a heads up. I'm not abandoning this story, just being a bit difficult, sorry. Oh, and reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's still me trying to find all my grammar errors and well…


	11. Part 11

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 11

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At 7:27 a.m. we are definitely early as the Avoxes (poor souls) are still setting up the gigantic place. We are they only non-servants here, I just know it is wrong to come here yet my teammate fearlessly (foolishly) walks right in and looks around. Why am I sticking my neck out for him again? Oh yes, because I'm hoping this rebellious moron can win. I sigh and follow him around. The place is sectioned into weapons training, physical training and survival training. It is further divided into stations that have dinky little plaques labeling them all. Oh and where does the hunter want to go first? Man it is no surprise at all when he beelines for the Archery Station. There are all kinds of bows and arrows displayed thus the nuisance has to paw each one. I pick up one bow for the hell of it, the shape is odd in my hand and the cord is tauter than I expected.

"Mellark," he starts casually but there is a hint of laughter in his fetching grays. "You need to hold it in your other hand and right way up."

I say nothing; just do as he said. Dude this is so much better! My cheeks color a bit; well just how was I supposed to know? It's not like he or Catpiss were stupid enough to take theirs into 12 with them and demonstrate.

He reaches for the arrows, strings it and takes aim. Oh please no! As I open my mouth to plead with him he puts the things down and leads us to another station. The next is the Knives & Daggers Station, we both palm some to get the feel for them. He probably knows how to really use it; I'm just comparing the feel of this superior metal to my skinning knife back home. The other weapons stations (Axes & Picks, Maces & Clubs, Spears & Tridents, Staffs & Halberds, Swords, Slingshots & Slings and 5 other stalls of weird but violent looking things I don't recognize) don't take us long since we aren't familiar with anything yet. In the physical training section I make sure I know where the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station, Weightlifting Station and Wrestling Stations are. The Gauntlet, Ropes Course, Boxing Station, Savate Station (what the hell is that?), Stealth & Tracking Station and 3 others that make up the rest of it don't look nearly so appealing. The survival section is an odd mix of TV screens, nature bits, forest landscapes, supplies and props. The stations are Camouflage, Edible Insects (girly moment of ew), Edible Plants & Useable Plants, Edible Animals (we need to be told?), Navigation, First Aid (isn't that what sponsors are for?), Fire Making (hey! One I know! Thank you father!), Fishing, Hammock Making (who'll have time for that?), Knots, Basket Weaving, Shelters and etc. Since these are the stations that put the hunger in the Hunger Games it's a bit unnerving to see so many of them that I need to learn. On the plus side when I ask Hawthorne about them he seems to have a level of confidence with some of them. This is a happy bit of information and makes his survival look that much more possible to me.

It's 8:08 when we get done looking at everything and the Avoxes finish and leave. The hunter immediately goes back for the Archery station to practice. His first few shots are gut wrenchingly horrible; they miss by a huge margin and pour ice in my veins. "What the fuck Hawthorne! You're supposed to be good!"

"Don't get them in a twist, Panty." He adjusts this stance, "This bow and the arrows are a bit different than back home."

The jackass' next few shots are progressively better until he is getting killing shots on the mannequin every time. Then he starts to show off; calling out body parts before he releases, increasing his distance, popping out of diving rolls to shoot from his knees and having me toss the figure to make it a moving target. This is one aspect of guy-dom I don't like, their proclivity to boast and show off. I think most grow out of it if my brothers are any indication though I'm flabbergasted he hasn't yet. The damn dummy looks like an over used pincushion when he is done. His smug smirk glows like a Capitol light bulb and gets under my skin. 'Well at least there is skill there to display,' I think. 'Now what to do with that?' His ruined model goes to the very back of a corner closet; behind the cleaning products I'd seen the poor Avoxes use. Pragmatically he sets up another mannequin and now the only sign that he practiced are the few punctures in the backboard when he missed (hopefully they'll be over looked).

The hunter then gets mockingly close to the thing, only twelve feet away and motions me over. "Come on and I'll show you Mellark. I'll teach you not to miss from here." He is still insufferably smug but there isn't the usual hardness to his eyes; it clicks that he is just teasing me.

Maybe it would be fun, or at least more exciting than watching him do his thing but we've been here too long. "It's 8:40 Gale, we should go back up and check on Mr. Abernathy."

He nods after a second then grins, "Just one shot Mellark. I'll even let you hold it like this," He stands facing forward not sideways, puts the whole thing in front of him and brings the bowstring and arrow to his sternum, "so when you miss you can blame it on that."

This is the first time I've seen him voluntarily look goofy and, even if it's to tease me, his honest good mood makes me want to go along with him. However I don't get to because at that instant the doors are shoved open by all the Careers entering. We all catch sight of each other and measure each other up. They are just as large as I thought but the unsettling thing about them is the way they, as one, look over Hawthorne, his stance with the bow, the holes in the back wall, summarily dismiss him as competition with their eyes and let bloodlust take over their smirking faces.

It's time to go. The hunter and I know better than to go 6 vs. 2 under these circumstances yet that doesn't mean we like it. He glares and puts the equipment away. I just know he would love to do something to prove them wrong, to show them he is not weak but the odds aren't in our favor. Even if we fought and somehow came out on top, tributes aren't allowed to fight before the arena and there would be no hiding that sort of brawl. They all stroll in and each goes for the nastiest weapon they can get their hands on. It's a show of intimidation; as such my pride burns to the core when we give them a wide birth and leave without word. We just pass the threshold when their loud, jeering laughter starts.

It takes so much self control not to turn around and at least cuss the sick fucks out but if I really want to do something that foolish it can wait until the arena. The elevator ride up is tense and uncomfortable. Neither of us has ever liked to back down and we have a history of fighting against odds that we shouldn't so it is all the more degrading to walk away with our tails between our legs. When we reach our floor I say, "You worked up a sweat; shower and change. I'll check on our mentor."

I leave before he can argue but go straight to Ms. Trinket's room. After a quiet knock she opens and is still on the phone but looks decidedly less peppy than last time. I raise an eyebrow and am delighted when she nods back. I mouth a 'thank you,' dart to his room, and pound vigorously on the door. Then it opens, all my anger at him from this morning comes back and my firsts clench instinctively.

"Now just calm down sweetheart. You don't want to do anything rash." He says as he straightens his onyx silk tie that matches his belt and shoes. It goes good with the three-piece coal black and Seam gray striped suit he is in. Also the fire color handkerchief in his left breast pocket adds a nice touch. It wasn't just Ms. Trinket that got him up this morning. He is well-groomed, sober and even smells of sandalwood; a complete 180 from this morning.

I hiss at him, "Will that be happening every morning and every night? Even once we're in the arena?"

He leans on the doorframe in a near boneless fashion; it's a lying lazy sort of dangerous. "It is a distinct possibility, sweetheart." His tone mild but his words are superior.

This is both utterly outraging and pulse-quiveringly frightening yet he expects me to back down, to not push the issue since he has cleaned up so nice. Maybe I should but I just can't yield twice in a row. I can't hit his face before he meets sponsors, for sure he has his knife and my complexion can't afford a bruise either so I lash out the only way I can; kick him hard in the shin. It takes out his support leg, makes him grab the door handle in order not to fall from his slouched position and gives me a moment to back out of his immediate range.

"Promise me that you will at least not binge drink during the games or I will make my last breath a curse at you and let everyone at home know how you gave up on us in preference to stay in an alcoholic daze." I snarl. "Mayor Undersee cares for me, my family is well liked among the merchants and Gale can turn the Hob against you when he finds out! Home will be much worse for you!"

There is a long pause and he watches me to see if I am serious about this; he must decide it's all just ridiculous and laughs uproariously. There is nothing more to say if that is his answer so I turn to leave. I know I am almost helpless in this situation, it is a bitter pill to swallow but I don't have to stand there and be his amusement. I am just about to turn the corner when my ears catch a strange quiet whistling sound, a second later a knife flies an inch in front of my nose and stakes the wall next to me. It shakes me but this no time for weakness. I glare at the blade, glare at him then pull the thing out and take it with me.

"That's okay, sweetheart I've got more," He calls.

"But now I have one too." I reply. When his chortles echo after me in answer I stop thinking about him. I don't understand him; his first night in the Capitol and he falls apart. He was fine yesterday, so what changed? I sigh. I'll find a way to deal with him tonight.

On my way to my quarters I note something shocking. In the dinning room a brand new breakfast has been put out. What happened to the one from earlier? They didn't just waste it did they? Well they must have or this wouldn't be here. What an overabundance of food! Nobody back in 12, no matter how well off could afford to waste so huge a meal as that.

"Unbelievable isn't it?" Hawthorne voices from behind me but my eyes are still on the quantity of food.

I concur, "Yes, it's just so m-"

"Well don't just stand there, sit and eat breakfast." Our mentor orders and leisurely walks in.

"We already ate and we've already been down to the training stations," my teammate says defiantly.

And his reaction is? A shortening of a single step just before he sits that I only catch because I'm watching him like a hawk. Then again why would he care anyway? I'm sure he will meet sponsors because Ms. Trinket set them up but I doubt he will actually try to convince any.

He loads up his plate, selects some orange juice (oh good) and glances at us once. "So you didn't get found out by the center supervisors or you wouldn't be the ones informing me on what knuckleheads you've been. So what's the damage you've done?"

For a beat I think the younger Seam will report (if solely to antagonize our mentor more) but he just makes an insolent face that gets us nowhere.

"Well, I'm waiting. It couldn't be so bad if you're both still breathing." His tone is joking yet his gaze is not.

I lift a brow at him, it doesn't even get acknowledged. I don't get him! So now he wants to mentor us and pretend our interaction didn't happen while I still hold the blade? I repeat: I don't get him but fine, whatever! If he wants to be a fickle bitch of a mentor, switching from on and off I'll make the 'on' times count. He needs to be supportive of my fellow tribute (whom is too stubborn to help at the moment), so I report everything to him; the stations, our relative impressions of them, the archery practice, the arrival of the sadists and even our humiliating retreat.

Mr. Abernathy chews for a bit and it occurs to me he may have been pulling my leg, that he wasn't listening and there won't be any help at all. Then, "Can't believe you've actually done some good but don't get cocky. Boy, you want the Careers to ignore you, to write you off. The less they watch you the more they underestimate in the arena. See what you can learn from listening to the weapons and physical training instructors rather than doing it in front of the tributes. You're big and look strong, don't act weak but don't show your strengths and especially don't challenge them in those strengths. Think you can do all that boy?" Haymitch actually stares down the hunter until he gets a stiff nod. "And for you sweetheart, it depends on how committed you are to keeping him alive and to how much you don't want to pair with him in the arena."

"I'll do anything to help him but we are staying separate in the games." I glimpse my teammate giving me a 'this isn't over look' and I know there will be words later.

"In that case learn everything you can from the combat and wrestling but hold back how strong you are. You should at least have one surprise to go into the arena with. You need to get through those stations today and tomorrow because you can't be bruised for your interview with Cesar. Needless to say, stay away from the weights. As for the other stations, since you won't kill and won't partner with someone with hunting skills, you need to learn everything you can from the survival stations. The longer you're alive and the more tributes you out live the more sponsors you can get. Aim to be in the last 3 and just try your hardest to get there." He pauses to take out a flask from somewhere and add some white liquid into his juice. Although it's not much it still makes me scowl at him; he goes on as if he didn't just do it in our faces. "Now for both of you, while you're training, check in with each other, show the Gamemakers and other tributes that you're on friendly terms. At lunch eat together and chat, I want you to create gossip and a stir about you now since you won't pair in the arena."

Of course he had to make things harder, yet maybe it won't be so bad? Maybe if I prattle on Hawthorne can fake listen? Would that work? "Is there anything else?"

Suddenly he shoves a mouthful of food in only to chew and talk at the same time. "Yeah. Watch what the other tributes can do, don't form any alliances, wait up here until 9:40 and sit down and eat." He does it again and little bits of food fly out as he does. "Sweetheart you especially need to gain weight now; won't hurt you either boy." It's a disturbing sign of practice that he can still talk so well.

Ms. Trinket walking up with a fierce (though hilarious looking) scowl explains his peculiar behavior. Wow, so mature. None-the-less we follow his instructions though it feels a bit wrong to support this Capitol overindulgence. Our mentor and escort leave not three minutes later, with her apologizing for not taking us down.

We each go to our rooms after, him to do whatever and I to do some hearty stretching (after I hide the knife). I'll need to be limber if I'm going to take some direct instruction in hand-to-hand combat. What will the specialist be like? Will they be reluctant pricks that I'll have to harangue into teaching me like the coaches back home? No, likely not as they annually have to deal with female tributes.

When it's time we meet by the elevator. He says, "I don't want your help. You should focus on just keeping yourself alive, learn whatever you want and we will just distance ourselves," as we enter.

Oh not this now, can't anything go smooth with us? I just say, "We'll discuss it later but for now I'm following Haymitch's orders." It's a neutral look we give each other but I notice a deep unease in him. Is it because of the elder Seam or me?

Robotically we exit and walk to the large still closed doors of the actual training area. There is a young sounding squeak on the other side just before Hawthorne pulls open the door for me like the gentleman he isn't.

It's coming at me fast, level with my face. I have no dimensions on the object, just that it's silver, pointed and the tip is aimed straight for me. On reflex my fist is up to punch the thing hard. Pain explodes in my knuckles as they collide, my muscles strain then my skin ignites as it scraps for a harsh second before it's gone. Behind and above me there is the loud 'THUNK' of something hitting and sinking into a wall. My eyes swoop up to the source and as soon as I see the embedded spear my word narrows. Distantly I hear shouts and screams going on from both sides of the door. I'm vaguely conscious of my teammate calling my name and taking my aching hand to inspect it. Peripherally I know that the doors are around me are wretched open and people are talking to me in frantic voices. However all I am fully aware of is the big male straight in front of me across the huge room with surprise and bloodlust taking over his hazel eyes. He is the Career from District 1.

Part 11 End.

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Side Note: Not double posting yet but still thinking about it, must consult with muse and schedule. Repeat reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's just me trying to find and fix all my grammar errors so…


	12. Part 12

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 12

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The center's staff takes me (Hawthorne too because he refuses to stay behind) to a medical room three halls over. They put my limb, up to my elbow, in the mouth of some weird machine and seconds later a picture of all the bones in it are on a screen. The bones in the picture flinch when I flinch and relax when I relax; it's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. A doctor there zooms in the image here and there, with special attention to my knuckles but deems me fine and made of strong stuff. The doctor then puts some strong smelling concoction on it, bandages me up, orders me to keep the cream on the rest of the day and shoos us out the door.

When we finally get into the center's gym we're the called into a semi-circle to wait for the tributes from 3 and 8 to come so we can start. I can feel many eyes on me and my hand; particularly a nasty pair of hazel orbs as District 1's male tribute stands closer than strictly necessary in this gathering. A slow burning anger is building in me, it seems I've caught his interest and now he is trying to intimidate me. This isn't like earlier, it's just him that is trying and it's an empty threat in front of all the staff but the arrogant fuck still wants to rattle me just by being close. Well screw him! After the last district squeaks in, barely on time, and the head trainer gives her speech I march over to the Spears & Tridents Station. All the careers note this but I don't care! Turning tail to them once was enough; they may take this as false bravo or just stupidity yet it doesn't matter. I couldn't stand myself if I backed down from one a-hole just being near me.

At first I'm far from incredible at spear throwing, which kind of shocks me. Normally my aim is freaking perfect; hell I killed mice and rats with pebbles back home as an odd job. It was easy, get a hand full of pebbles, either lay food in the open or flush them out and aim to cave in their skulls. Baseball and dodge-ball were even easier. However the spear is such a long object it takes me a while to manage the proportions (it's not like we throw long sticks around in 12). Even with an instructor's help I'm still not so hot with it and I look worse than I am. It's because Mr. Abernathy said to hold back my strength so I'm not throwing far or sinking the weapon deep into the dummy.

"Feeling better now?" asks Hawthorne, who magically seems to appear next to me, halberd in hand.

My cheeks color slightly, am I that obvious? "Only some, it'd be nice to return the favor."

He shakes his head, "Can't do that now that the Gamemakers are here." He discretely points with his weapon over his shoulder to a balcony above full of Capitol asswipes. "How's your hand?"

His voice is so unusually soft with that question that I realize that he isn't following our mentor's orders but is genuinely concerned for me. This makes me happy for some reason. "It's been fine since the doc put that weird cream on. It still smells though."

"So no problems?"

"None," I confirm. There doesn't seem anything more to say because he is still against our orders thus I announce, "I'm going to the combat guy now" and do so.

There are three men running the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station and each is as big as the biggest tribute, the male from 2. I take the free one and after he introduces himself as Arnold Anton, go at him with everything I've got. Oh he is so good! For ten divine minutes he lets me come at him however I want and he is completely on the defensive. I don't hit him much, majority of my punches and my kicks being blocked, caught or redirected. Yet the best is his telling me what I need to fix with every miss. I've never had such good, clear teaching; I'm positively ecstatic! For the next electrifying ten minutes he switches up and is fully on the offensive. Holy burnt bagels; if he wasn't holding back and just tapping me with his palm I'd be in serious pain now. I block and divert some of his hits if they come to me at traditional angels but the obscure ones or the feints get right through my defense. Still with every breach he makes he then instructs me on what to do better for next time and how to spot which attack is which. In the ten minutes after that we just go at each other, neither speaking a word with smiles stretched wide on our faces. In this back and forth some of my hard earned flexibility is paying off, allowing me to switch from attack to defense and back easily. Finally he sweeps my legs out from under me and I land on my side.

"Ready to learn some specifics now?" Mr. Anton asks with a beatific grin.

I have no idea what he means but I nod. Right now I'm about willing to do anything this man wants just to keep fighting. That was the most exhilarating spar of my life and though it is a nuisance keeping my strength in check I don't want it to end. However what he has me do now is anomalous. He puts me in different stances and adjusts my posture, arm positioning and footing, a bit like Ms. Trinket did with my standing. Bend your knee like this, tuck you arm in more, instep pointing this way, keep this shoulder back. Then he has me go through all my basic attacks, blocks and counter attacks to do more of these little adjustments. Rotate your wrist like this, straighten your elbow like that, pivot on this part of your foot, chamber your kicks back to here and angle your hips this way. He teaches me some new moves and has me repeat them a few times slowly then a few times fast. Finally he has me do combos with his corrections in place and I understand! These little things give me more stability, force and speed plus everything eases into each other so smoothly.

It's all so surreal. No one teaches you how to fight in 12 because the peacekeepers don't allow it. You have to learn on your own of sorts. You learn fighting by fighting, by getting beat up and by learning from your mistakes with either your peers or your older siblings. Hawthorne is amazing because he is a great fighter and completely self-taught. I'm lucky because I have tough older brothers who are decent fighters and willing to spar. No one teaches like this back home and no one can because no one is this good there.

We go back to fighting but this time he is throwing in reminders to use my corrected moves. I admit it is very hard to hold back my strength, fend him off and try to beat him while remembering to use his tips. It takes lots of reminders from him, both verbally and physically (particularly hard taps) for me to incorporate his teachings naturally into my fighting but I'm getting there. We keep going, each smiling jubilantly and delighted every time something comes to me automatically. In the back of my mind I know time is passing but I'm too euphoric to feel it, then the sound of a buzzer going off permeates the gym and Mr. Anton calls the session to an end. It is only then that I realize it's 1:30 (lunch time), I've spent 3 hours doing nothing but fighting and though I'm much improved, I'm winded as all get out and hungry enough to eat a horse. The last fact is something my stomach wishes to proclaim in a deafening belly growl. He blinks in stunned shock but my mood is still so joyous I just laugh instead of feeling embarrassed.

A snort from somewhere to the left of me turns my focus in time to catch the hunter roll his eyes. Yeah he can fake disinterest all he wants but I know he's jealous. Unnervingly his is not the only attention I have, the Careers are watching me again and most of the tributes. Whatever my fighting level is to them, I've just proven I have stamina, which may be just as bad or worse. Two large side doors open, the smell of Capitol food wafts in and the staff herd us into a cafeteria like setup.

Hawthorne looks like he is about to separate from me, rebelling against Mr. Abernathy and my wishes but a simple, "Let me tell you what the specialist taught me" and he is hooked. We load up our trays, going from cart to cart when I see two younger tributes hesitantly walking away with meager portion on their plates. A scan shows the most of the rest are the same; he seems to notice too, but we find a table near the back of the room and don't comment on this.

My face flushes with excitement in just relaying every word and action of my session to him. At first it comes out jumbled but then he begins inquiring specific questions and they help me ingrain every thing in my mind. The fight was easy enough to describe but when I get to the paces Mr. Anton put me through it's hard to define, particularly because my teammate won't let me demonstrate or use any hand motions to help explain. His reason is that he doesn't want the other tributes (read Careers) to know what we are talking about. I see his point entirely but I dislike that it dampens my fun. Then I tell him he should snag Mr. Anton anyway, just to learn the specifics as well. He looks at me and I know this is going against our mentor but I explain, "We've both had times when we hit wrong and had sprains or strains after. If you go through the basics with Mr. Anton he can teach out how to avoid it. We can't afford a sprain or strain in the arena Gale."

He thinks this through for a bit and responds, "But he'll expect me to fight won't he and I still don't want the Careers to see that. Even if he doesn't won't it look suspicious if I don't."

We break to refill our plates, under the eyes of all the competition. It means we do not give up, we intend to fight and I'm a happy to see some of the other tributes find some guts to get second helpings, especially a tiny girl that couldn't be more than 69 pounds. I tell him about the rest of my fight and he tells me about his time with the halberd, the throwing knives, daggers and fire making. Then he tells me what he's gleaned from the others; the District 11 male can easily throw 100 pounds on-target and for a fair distance, the District 4s know their knots but the female favors the trident and the male the halberd, the District 2s favor the sword & axe for the guy and knives for the girl and the District 1s, well the girl likes the bow but she's lousy and I knew how much he like that damn spear. What is the most disturbing to hear is that my little attempt at the spears just got me further attention from him (D1m) and my fighting picked up attention from the massive tribute male from 2. That ultimately takes my happy blush from my face and for one crazy second the urge to look over my shoulder and confirm is gripping.

Promptly as lunch finishes the D1m, D2m and D2f storm the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station and the pushy girl gets poor Mr. Anton. I don't know if this is a challenge or not, I don't want to back down if it is but it's not smart to take them on either so I let Hawthorne lead me to the Slingshot & Sling Station. A moment later the tiny girl joins and out shoots us both with the slingshot, getting a bullseye every time. It makes the hunter laugh for some reason and he orders one of the instructors to throw small targets for her instead. These moving targets are harder for her. Eventually we get the hang of the slingshots but we move on to the slings. The slings will be easier to forge in the arena so it's a nice improvised weapon. The sling is nice, I can hit the flying targets but I don't like the time it takes to launch when I can chuck a five-pound rock just as well, just as far and harder than these small stones. As we are leaving to split up and she is hitting three flying targets at time, he looks around the gym and whispers to her, "When we are gone have them bring out the dummies for you. Aim for here" he points to his temple, "or here" he points to his eye, "as hard and as accurately as you can. If they're unconscious or blind they can't hurt you. Once you get good with the still dummies have the trainers move them around and come at you. Also try to learn the sling, it'll be easier to make in the games."

She looks as speechless as I feel! That is dangerous! She is his competition and damn good with her little weapon! What is he thinking? I want to ask, even just raise an eyebrow at him but he is off to the Ropes Course before I can. I turn to look her over, she flinches and I think I see what he saw. A small, frighten 12-year-old wisp of a girl who absolutely shouldn't be here in this situation. I sigh and add, "They have lots of rocks here, learn which ones are bad and fall apart and which are solid enough to make a good impact. Practice with the smoother stones, they make less sound in the air and you can hunt animals with them. The Edible Animal Station might be able to tell you where to strike a critter to kill it with one shot, if not aim for the head and stay down wind." It's the only advice I can give since it worked for me during my exterminator jobs. She just looks at me with her big, dark orbs; I feel so foolish I smile like the dope I am and leave.

I check out the Fire Making Station and after asking the man just run through every way and condition he knows to make and keep a fire I leave. It's not new to me; my father taught all his children all the ways to make a fire and every other time we cook or light the oven we don't get to use matches. His motto is you aren't a baker if you can't even control fire. The running theory between my brothers and me is that he is a pyromaniac who channels his obsession into something useful like the bakery. Next is the Shelters Station, but all the specialist can teach me is what makes up a good shelter (dryness, camouflage, stability, etc.) and not how to make one because I'm rubbish at knots. She kicks me out quickly, saying to see the Knot Station first and come back afterwards. Yeah, I don't think so. The Hammock Making Station is written off as well.

I have three hours left and I want to devote two to wrestling so I go to the large Fishing Station for an hour. The man is obviously from District 4 and once the idea of a hook-line-pole-waiting is rejected he has me wade into one of the structures to try barehanded style. It's harder than I thought as the water, especially the flowing water, distorts the image, knocks off my aim and makes everything slippery (the soaked bandages are no help too). I'm not exactly graceful either so after my third miss, fish slipping between my fingers, I end up sitting waist deep in the little pond to the pleasure of the laughing Careers from 4. Their laughter brings the attention of the others and the Gamemakers, which makes my sogginess more uncomfortable. It all fades into the background when Hawthorne gives me a mocking/amused thumbs up, I glare at the jerk and get up to try again. Eventually the instructor gives up after my third slip-n-slash in so many minutes and hands me a sharpened stick to use as a harpoon. I prove much better with this and only have to worry about catching up to my impaled fish before the manmade stream can takes it away. Next he teaches skinning, gutting and cooking but I already have those covered thus I spend the rest of my hour drying by his cooking fire and tossing the stick into either the pond or stream to practice.

My clothes are still on the damp (fishy scented) side when I go to the Wrestling Station but the specialist that is free waves it off. This is more familiar to me (aside from being out of my binding) as I'm on the wrestling team. The coach back home tolerates me; he took me on because he adores my brothers and couldn't say no to them. This man seems to not mind I'm a girl and has me demonstrate everything I know then uses the same moves against me to see how well I know my stuff. I am really good, or so he says but my weakness is speed (holding back slows me down). He teaches me some more advance moves that don't exist in 12, we practice them a while before it devolves into a practice session of repetition to build up my speed (and control). I'm smiling on the outside, gratified I am proficient in my sport but inside I miss home.

A few times during my wrestling I look around for Hawthorne. Soon I find him with Mr. Anton, going through the basics but at a ludicrously slow pace. Each instant I have to spare him he still has that slow rhythm. The thought that he looks like an incompetent novice has to click before I realize what he is doing. By going this slow he's learning without showing his skills, and it works as none of the Careers or stronger tributes pay him any attention. A while later the hunter is sitting on the floor, watching and listening to Mr. Anton lecture and demonstrate (alone) some very advanced moves. The instructor looks foolish on his own however the look of concentration and enthusiasm on his face means that my teammate is picking it up. Tonight will be an interesting night, if that is anything to go on.

Part 12 End.

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Side Note: Double posting! Part 13 directly follows so please allow a time gap for part 14. Standard reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's just me trying to find and fix all my grammar errors so until I have help you're all stuck with me. I pity all of you that in fact have perfect grammar and read this.


	13. Part 13

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 13

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All stations close at 7 pm sharp, no exceptions and all tributes must be out of the training area by 7:01 pm, no exceptions.

As we all head for the elevators none of us normal tributes want to ride up with the Career pack of 1s, 2s and 4s, so we have to endure their smirking, goading faces as they load in. A pair of hazel eyes pointedly catch my sky blues; he was the only tribute that had the position to see what happened this morning aside from my teammate and he has not forgotten about me. I glare but the bloodlust just darkens his eyes and it's the elevator door that cuts us off.

Before I mean to I growl out, "What's that jackass throwing spears at doors for anyway?" It is a rhetorical question; it's the one thing I didn't understand about the whole incident. Why the fuck would he aim at a closed door if he is so freaking bloodthirsty? Or did he just hope to kill someone, anyone, by coincidence?

"Um, me." A small voice from the back of the group says, before the tiny girl makes her way forward. "He was aiming at me, but I think he was going too high just to scare me."

Her? The smallest, weakest tribute here and that pustule had to pick Her to frighten?! "That Low, Nutless, Scummy, Toe-Fungus!" I hiss. "That Cretinous, Spineless Infected Donkey's Dick Must Be Too Scared To Pick On Someone His Own Size!"

There is a collective gasp then silence from the other tributes that is crushed when Hawthorne, the tiny girl and the huge male from 11 start laughing. Slowly some of the rest chuckle but it dies quickly.

I color but spit out, "What? You know I'm right," and push the button.

Seam gray eyes shine handsomely with laughter as he nods, "Of course you're right but that's what's funny, Panty."

I whirl around on him; I don't appreciate that in front of our competitors. "Don't you start Gale or I'll just find a name for you too." I already have one in mind.

He straightens and smirks playfully, "I don't believe you Panty."

The elevator arrives and opens as I retort, "Whatever you say, Gay-boy." His smirk gets strained but remains. Being called gay, lesbian or homosexual isn't a big deal back home but who knows about the other districts? The peacekeepers from District 2 certainly don't approve. Also I've never called him a name before but he's never called me anything but Mellark in a crowd before either.

The braver tributes come into the lift with us and ignore the tension. There is utter silence as none of the other district pairs will talk or even acknowledge each other. For the first time I'm glad for even the small relationship the hunter and I have; it would be much lonelier without him. Then I instantly regret the thought. It would be better for the people I care for and Hawthorne's family if he'd never been picked and it was a stranger and myself here. As the elevator drops off at different floors I see other escorts and mentors. Yes mentors, plural, as every other district has two mentors and at least two victors. This and the silence make me more resolved to make sure he goes home a victor, not a corpse. The last to leave are the huge male and tiny girl of 11, what a vast difference.

Mr. Abernathy (surprisingly sober), Ms. Trinket and dinner are there to welcome us at our floor. I am happy to see each of them. They have us sit to eat but don't wait for us to start before they are asking about today. Hawthorne begins first since my mouth is currently very full of mashed sweet potatoes. They aren't pleased to learn about the spear, my hand, the staring or my meager retaliation. They are pleased to hear he is passable with a halberd, slingshot and sling but great with fire making, throwing knives and daggers. He says he was fine with the Ropes Course, but aced the Navigation, and Stealth & Tracking Station. He mentions we had lunch together then goes on to tell what he saw the other tribute excel at. I only listen with a half ear because I am stunned he didn't mention helping tiny 11 or his time with the combat station. I don't know if it is more rebellion, foolishness or distrust in Mr. Abernathy but I do not think it is a smart idea. Although he can't possibly be the best mentor, he is ours and so if he is ever to help us he should be properly informed. When it is my turn I just give my teammate a look but he doesn't say a word. "I'll tell them if you won't."

"Tell us what sweetheart?" his voice and face are lackadaisical but his Seam eyes narrow the slightest bit in suspicion.

Hawthorne shoots me an angry and distrusting look that wounds me for some strange reason. "Look you don't have to follow his advice but it does no good to lie to him." I defend.

"Lie to Me?!" Haymitch snarls and Ms. Trinket frowns.

"Mellark you're a dirty rat! And stupid too, trusting a booze hound like him."

"Oi, boy! I-" our mentor starts but I cut him off.

"Well you're a pig-headed idiot-savant that was brilliant enough to do what you did but too moronic to tell about it! What does it hurt to tell Gale? Really, tell me a logical reason and I'll never give him a word about it or anything you don't want me to." When he turns away I grab his sleeve to force him to look at me. Yes I may ridiculously place my trust and hopes in Mr. Abernathy but I am on his side. I need him to see that. When he still won't meet my eyes I say the words aloud. Grays pierce into me for a moment before a very conflicted expression takes over his whole being; still he gives me a subtle nod so I inform the adults. I stress the genius of his tactic in the two-hour combat session he had, how it looked from the outside and how all the tributes dismissed him.

The elder Seam gazes over the younger for a tense while, Ms. Trinket and I hold our breath for the call. Finally, "Oh she's got you pegged boy, pig-headed idiot-savant you are." Now I regret the words. "That was very clever, and on the spot too. That more than anything can get you out of the arena, but so can help so no more turning it down." He turns to me and asks, "anything else?"

There was the thing about the tiny girl from 11 yet it was trivial and I don't want to get either of us in more trouble. "Nope," I say then fill him in on my day. Both were expecting I would do the combat station and would hold back my strength, neither expected I'd to it for three hours and add wrestling for two. Haymitch grills me on the sessions and in the end is not happy about me showing all my skills or my endurance. The way the displeasure settles on his face is more upsetting to me than it should be, it is kind of like when I disappoint a coach from home. I guess that it's fitting, I'm not close to them either. After a pause the two proceed to really question us from the top, like we didn't just tell them. It's annoying, I don't get why they do it and I accidentally let slip about my father but it's what they want so whatever.

Dinner lasts an uncomfortable 40 minutes with all the talking and the next 45 minutes after are no better. They split us up, each takes one of us to work their specialty so it's 22 minutes of one then the other. Ms. Trinket gets me first and it's back to learning how to walk and stand. She says that next time we'll work on sitting and hand gestures too. (Oh joy, I can't fucking wait.) Time with our mentor means it's a session to sharpen my lying skills and prepare for the Flickerman live interview. At 8:30 Hawthorne and I get the order to hit the showers, a reminder to use the creams afterwards and a recommendation to be in bed by 10. We know what it really means.

I was a bit tired before but just the thought of another spar with my teammate rejuvenates me. I reach for the shower panel but then see him in the mirror pointing to the tubs they have and a panel for some type of music selection. It seems very odd to me that people would want to listen to music while cleaning themselves yet I roll with it and copy his every motion, perfectly in sync with him. The tubs fill, the same song plays at the same volume and at last real privacy.

There isn't time to wonder what comes next as he makes a come hither motion with his fingers. He's not smiling or looking altogether too thrilled so I know he will at least in part be getting me back for snitching on him. Hawthorne really isn't the forgiving type and I'm in for soreness later. That in mind it still comes as a breathless shock when I charge at him, he feints a half step left only to surge forward inside my guard and uses both our momentums to slam the tip of his elbow into my sternum. The pain is enough that I'm choking on it, my lungs feel compressed but my ribcage hurts so bad my chest refuses to expand and draw breath, I can't draw in air. For a few horrible seconds all I can do is stumble away and try to get oxygen in me, finally survival instinct kicks in and I take in an agonizing lungful. I pant through the sensation my nerves and brain are telling me and simply stare at him; half not believing he just did that to me and other half mentally screaming from my pain.

He stares at me a bit wide eyed, then says, "I didn't know it would work like that. I was just trying out a move Anton showed me, Peeta."

I shake my head, that is an explanation but it is not enough. I would never do that to him, at least not without warning; we both know what a blow to there does and if he didn't before then he found out on the train when I hammer fisted him. No, just now he wanted to hurt me, maybe not this much but he did. "Apologize right now, you knew that wasn't going to be a light tap. Say it or we don't fight."

Instead of contrite he looks slightly hopeful, "Does that mean you don't want to have me win anymore?"

It sounds like a provocation but he may mean in the arena not just here. I don't get what his problem is with me helping him but after a day of such highs and strange lows I don't have the patience for this shit. He wants to hurt me? Well I can hurt him back. He wants to push me away? Well I won't let him, and forget what I said earlier about not fighting! I attack him, holding back far less than I normally would and my effect is visible. He blocks but can't hold them head on so he has to switch to diverting; sometimes he is fast enough and some times he isn't. He on the other hand has some definite new moves; he is using his elbows, knees, forearm bones and even his shins to block, hit, kick and smack me. Each contact hurts so I know he isn't holding much back but the location of the pain is getting it through my anger-fogged mind that he isn't hitting where he should be. He's always a few crucial inches off and I don't think it's on purpose.

I use some of the overhead blocks Mr. Anton taught me, they were meant for a girl with far less upper body strength against a taller, stronger opponent so with me they allow me to break into his guard, slip my hands down his upper arms and grab him just before the joint. I charge with my full strength, not giving him time to recover and smack him into the wall. For all that he may be the better fighter I am stronger. I chose a section of padded wall so although he is stunned we shouldn't have to worry about a concussion. I back away from him, immediately feeling pain in my shin where I blocked his own shin from whacking me, and announce, "We are done. I don't think your head is on straight." I review the frenzied attacks and counter attacks we just laid into one another. He was going for my vital points, like my kidneys with his fists and my spleen with his knees. I wasn't exactly trying to spare him either, so to be fair I add, "And I know my head isn't either." We should have held back more. I don't know what his problem is but we won't solve it like this.

Absently my hand reaches for my collar, for Madge's pin. As I run over the shape of it for comfort it occurs to me that it might have been damaged today so I dash to my mirror to inspect the piece. It's fine, the double layer of my collar is a good place for it but I'm sure I'm not so lucky. I peel my shirt off and I know there is trouble when my muscles try to protest the move. Already the adrenaline is fading and the pain is blooming, particularly in my chest. In the mirror I see that I am purpled in some places and getting there in others. I strip my hand then my pants to see my lower body is the same. This is not alright. It's to the point where my only patch of flawless skin is where the bandages were on my hand.

In the reflection I watch him, slumped against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor and eyes once more jumping from injury to injury on me. He knows that this is not alright either. After a second he stands and strips to his boxers and I see the damage I did. Shit! His ribs! I zip over to him and run my hand over them before he can stop me. He slaps my hand away; I didn't feel anything off and he didn't seem to be in too much discomfort, still I say, "Sorry."

"Sorry?" He says mockingly and looks away from me, "Maybe you should look in the mirror again."

He's still mad, but now I don't know if it's at me or the word in general. "I don't think that fight did either of us good." I try to say diplomatically then go on, "And I am sorry. Sorry for your ribs, sorry for not holding back and sorry for telling Mr. Abernathy like that but you really should have told him yourself."

He turns to me and gets in my face, angry as a wet hen for some reason. "You shouldn't trust him, he's not looking out for you!"

That last part he says a little loud so I put my finger to my mouth and make a shushing motion. He frowns then grabs my arm and pulls me down to the cold tile floor with him. I have to suppress a yelp when my bottom feels the drop in temperature. Acting like I didn't feel a thing I insist, "Yes he is."

Hawthorne actually sits like it's nothing, and leans in close to hiss, "If he's letting you keep your stupid plan then he's not on your side idiot."

I have to remind myself not to yell. I whisper, "My plan is not stupid and shouldn't you be happy you have someone on your side?"

He scowls, "Fine it's not stupid, just fucking cowardly. You just want to use me. I get it. It's to help everyone back home, so noble. So you'll use me for a 'good' reason, expect me to do everything and handle everything back home. But if you weren't such a frightened bitch you'd get some real guts and kill your way through the games to fix home yourself."

I HATE, Abhor and Detest when he calls me Bitch! All my knuckles crack as my fists clench tight in order not to seriously punch his face in. He's right and it's the only thing that stills me. Even though he has correctly pegged me as a coward it doesn't mean I'm going to go out and turn into another Wilhelmina; I refuse to let myself be changed like that. I hiss, "Yes, you're right, but it doesn't change anything. You still want to live, you want to return to your family and they still need you back, so tell me who does it really hurt?"

He blinks at me in astonishment and I know it's over not denying the coward part, before that had always been a sure fire way to goad either of us into a fight. Neither of us like the term but why not call a spade a spade. I'm a coward; I want to live but won't murder to save my life because I'm too afraid of what it will turn me into. I'm already changing so much for the Capitol, for the sponsors, for the chance to help those I love I cannot give the sadists this too. I will not become a murderess. None-the-less the more he looks at me the more a feeling of shame grows.

I get my aching body up and to my tub. There is nothing more to say and the water is still very warm.

Part 13 End.

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Side Note: Double posting! Part 12 was posted with this part so please allow a time gap for part 14. Standard reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's just me trying to find and fix all my grammar errors so... I pity all of you that in fact have perfect grammar and read this.


	14. Part 14

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 14

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The bath is both heavenly and torturous. It is heavenly because it feels so nice to my very sore and aching body yet it is torturous because Hawthorne is directly across from me in his own tub. With the mood we're in it's not hard to keep our eyes to ourselves but it is unnerving having any guy in the 'same' room while I bathe. I scold myself for being so girly then I try to relax, close my eyes and organize my thoughts. It doesn't work, so many things have happened in the last three days that nothing feels normal or secure and my brain doesn't have much to hang onto. How do tributes keep their sanity before they go into the arena? Yep, I so can't wait for the days to come!

I get out of the bath reluctantly and wrap a towel around. As nice as the bath feels, it's the creams that will heal me faster. It takes a while to bandage all the different parts of me that need one if not two creams and by the end not much bare skin is left. I brush, dress for bed, on a whim add Madge's pin for comfort and head for the hallway bathroom. I don't want to bother Hawthorne; hopefully he'll be better in the morning, not likely but hopefully. On my way back from the restroom I see the light on in the living room and go for a look.

It's Mr. Abernathy and he's drinking! An empty bottle is with him, he's a good way into his second but it's the third unopened one that disturbs me. Oh no, not again you intoxicated jackass! I sneak around the couch he's on, saying out of his thousand-mile stare and take the still sealed bottle without him noticing. Like in the train there is a bar cart and I tiptoe to that next, carefully I load up my arms with bottles and go back to the hallway water closet. It takes several trips but eventually I have all the booze and I start dumping them down the sink. As I'm on my last jug I hear, "What The Hell?! Where's…? Un… Spirits Spirited Away! Ha Ha Ha!" I creep out to see him fumble all over the cart then make for his room! Yes! Success!

Happily I trot to my room, very please with myself. So pleased in fact to decide I want one of my cookies from home with milk so I go to the little microphone to order a cup when… "Oh Shit!" Damn it, I forgot about that! What to do, what to do, what to do? Can't break the mounthpiece or the dumbwaiter because we don't want to have Capitol staff nosing around finding the bathroom wall out. So that leaves… Yes that could work, it won't be comfortable but what are the options. I grab a few things then head to the hunter's room. I knock several times but he doesn't answer so I go in. It's dark but the glowing wall clock reads 10 past 10; already he's in bed and sound asleep. I really hate to wake him but this is important.

"Gale," I gently shake his shoulder, "Gale wake up."

His eyes stay shut yet he grumbles, "What now Panty?"

My descending fist stops a centimeter from his handsome face and my whole arm trembles with restraint. I almost socked him though I still so want to hit him! Does he have any idea how much I loath that nickname? Through grit teeth I say, "You need to help me, Mr. Abernathy is drinking."

A sleepy "So?" is his total response.

"So we need to sleep with him to keep him from drinking more."

His eyes snap open and he peers at me in the dark for a beat then, "No!" he says strongly and suddenly wide-awake. "I'm not sleeping with that shit. I wouldn't even if he were the last thing alive."

"Wha-" is all I get out before he grabs my arms, making me drop my things and pulls me to his face.

"And you aren't either Mellark! I don't know what kind of screw loose you have but you're not sleeping with him just to keep him sober." He declares very determinedly, as if his will and decree alone could stop anything.

"Ew. No!" In the dim light of the clock his face is so dark and serious it would be funny if what he suggested weren't so repulsive. "I meant sleep in the same room so he can't order drinks." This is what happens when I say 'sleep with' to the guy who does a lot of… 'active sleeping' back home. "I already emptied out the bar cart we just need to stop him from ordering or leaving his room to bother an Avox."

He relaxes, releases me and lays back. "Different type of screw loose then. Look Panty-"

He cuts off when I smack his arm. He needs to stop that crap! I snarl, "It's Peeta, it's not a hard name!"

He rolls his eyes, continues "Look Panty," and ignores the second smack, "if Haymitch was any good at getting tributes out, of helping someone become a victor don't you think he would have done so buy now?"

"Yes, I have thought about that, Gay-boy, but he is still a resource. And he has sent a few gifts to tributes in the past. He is someone that will be here on the outside and can help us. Maybe he can't and won't help us much but it's still help, how can you ignore that?" It's a total of eight gifts he's sent in his time of being mentor. The witch keeps a loose track of the sole victor during the games and the rest of the time she'd rather pretend he, like the residents of Seam, doesn't exist.

He glares, "Because false hopes aren't worth anything." He pauses to look at me. "For a person so fine with dying you sure act like you want to live."

I growl at him, snatch up my pillow and blankets then leave. I'm on my own and it's fine! I stride up to my mentor's room and barge in without warning since the lights seem to be on. He is passed out on top of the bed, above all the covers and still in his clothes from dinner sans shoes. Yet what annoys me the bottle in his hand is pouring liquor steadily straight on to the carpet. Maybe Hawthorne is right about him but he is at least helping us lie for the interview with Flickerman and Ms. Trinket seemed positive about their day meeting with sponsors so I need to try. I take the bottle from his hand, dump it in his sink and grab a few towels; one for the floor, one if he pukes and one for me.

Now to deal with the in-room food service and the door. I look at the huge menu, then ignore it and try to order five glasses of what my grudged teammate got him. It takes a while and I feel bad for hassling some poor Avox so late but I get the drinks. The old lush can have these if he wants any sort of alcohol. The door is taken care of the same way my brothers pranked me once. I just use some outlandishly absurd ties from his closet, make a rope, fix one end to the doorknob and the other around my ankle. Yeah that was some laugh my dorky bros had when our father opened the door, yanked me out of bed and straight to the floor. That done I lower the lights and arrange my towel, pillow and blankets under the microphone (Ha! Let's seem him get his drink on now!). As I curl up to sleep a wave of tiredness crashes down on me and pulls me under. The last thing I feel is the pillow under my ear and I'm out.

My dormancy is strange, it's more like lucid dreaming with me back home in the bakery knowing that I'm really not there somehow. There is whimpering, that is coming from somewhere but no place that I can find as I look all around my empty home. It's a weird, whispering whimper; words of sadness and longing are too low and too poorly pronounced for me to understand. I check from attic to cellar and every room in between but it's as if it is coming from every wall. No one is home save me yet the sounds are too human to be anything less than a person. Then it changes to fabric swishing, a rumbling groan followed by muttered curses, hate filled profanities and peaks to howls of pain. It's the howls that push past my dream's credibility and I wake to real howls of pain, horror and fear. It's the fear, the sound of core deep gut wrenching fear that freezes me place. I watch uselessly as Mr. Abernathy cries and wails his terror and agony. After a while he quiets back into whimpering sobs, sinks into a fitful slumber and I shakily come to my senses.

Sweet freakish god of delirium please tell me that was one for yours because I sure as hell don't know what that was or how the blooming hell to fix it! My adrenaline is pumping, urging me to do something, anything, just do it now but all I can do is gaze at his still form and listen to his once more rhythmic breathing. Eventually my eyes get tired and close but my ears and mind stay alert for a while.

The second time it happens I don't become a statue but do trip over my own tied leg. He is still thrashing when I get try to wake him. Thankfully he doesn't have a knife with him. I try calling his name and shaking his shoulder but my arm gets caught under him when he rolls over it. Just as I lift him off 'WHAM!' My chest where Hawthorne nailed me explodes in dizzying, breath sealing pain and my vision blurs for a moment. All other sensations in my body start to slip through my grasp as I slump down. Vaguely I think I feel a hand on my cheek and hear a soft "lee." After a moment of crippling pain and stillness I inch away, then crawl from the now peacefully unconscious bastard. I curl up into a tight ball, try to breathe through the ache and wonder what the hell is he dreaming about that makes him sleep like this. What could give anyone such dreams that make them sound like that? As I've never heard anyone cry like him, awake or asleep, I haven't the mildest clue. I try to dismiss the thought (maybe he is just like this) and to go to sleep. I need sleep desperately if I'm to survive tomorrow. However the question of just what caused his unrest nags at me, like the answer should be something obvious that I'm just not seeing.

The third time it happens, somewhere around 4 in the morning I just wet a washcloth and fling it on his face. The wet contact wakes him enough to spot at me then tract me with his sleepy slitted Seam eyes as I return to my bedding. I'm not sure how truly coherent he is right now, nor I myself. For a long time we just look at each other; both totally silent yet neither backing down. Unfortunately I'm so tired my eyes close first and I am gone soon after.

My blanket being ripped away shocks me into the land of the alert. Hawthorne is standing over me, frowning. He says something that I don't catch. "What?"

"I said, it's already 8:50, get up."

No, that can't be right. I blink at him, take in his sweaty form, his concerned face and check the wall clock. Holy bagels it really is that late! I've actually slept past 8 for once in my life. Slowly and sorely I get up from Mr. Abernathy's floor and look for him. All I see are five empty glasses. "Where-"

"They are gone, I don't know what time they left. I'd been waiting for you in the gym but you're still here. What the hell's with you? You look like crap."

I stretch delicately, "Well then I look like I feel." I glace at him. He exercised without me? He trained at a station without me? The thought stings though it shouldn't for any reason; I push it aside. Breakfast (first, second or possibly third?) is out and I'm too sleepy to do anything except dig in. The food and a strong tea help me wake. A short yet hot shower helps my aches but the bruise on my sternum is vivid (freaking drunk turd). I decide to apply creams and a bandage there for the day; it shouldn't show too much there, even in the fairly tight training clothes. I'm ready (pin in place, hair braided and shoes on) with lots of time to spare so I'd like nothing more than to crawl into my bed for a few minutes, I settle for the couch instead. It's 9:45 (shit! So late!) when my teammate wakes me and insistently shuffles me to the elevator.

"I can't believe you were stupid enough to sleep there! And now look at you! You still look bushed."

Why does he care? Yet my reflection shows how tired I look. Huh, I must have been really out of it if I slept through our mentor getting ready and leaving. "I wonder if Haymitch was drunk or just hung over this morning?"

He scowls, "By now I'm sure he's drunk out there somewhere, so that means you shouldn't do it again tonight."

"I won't, he snores too loud." No matter how much I want his help it's not worth me being sleep deprived. Whatever his deal is I don't want to experience it again and he likely wouldn't like me spreading it.

We ride the lift down, picking up 5 and 3 on the way. The stations are manned now but none of the specialists are teaching and the tributes are messing with anything. We're the last ones to arrive and lots of stations have tributes waiting to use them. Not feeling up to much right now I head to the Archery Station more to see if the hunter left signs of himself (assuming he did archery in the first place). The twiggy woman running the station looks as groggy as me and I have to wonder how a thin thing like her can be so good at archery. For a second I think of Catpiss and get homesick even for her. Yetch. The bow and arrow feel unfamiliar in my hands and I have to remember how Hawthorne properly held it to try to mimic him. I aim, relax my fingers to release when "No!" & "Peeta!" Too late, I let go, 'SNAP!' only to yowl in surprise and hurt. I drop the bow and grab my breast. "OW! Mother Fucking OW! OW!" My boob is burning with a hot stinging streak of pain and in the back of my mind I realize the taunt bowstring caught me. I start to curse a long line of nonsensical obscenities that only stop when I hear deep belly laughs coming beside me. I glare at my supposed teammate, way to have my back you jerk!

He zips it quick and puts his palms up defensively. "Hey, I tried to stop you," He chuckles again, "and did you hear the things coming out of your mouth? That thing about the spork was damn funny."

I'm awake now, but too tired to recall what just spilled out. A scan around the gym shows a mix of offended, amused and shocked eyes of tributes, trainers and the few early Gamemakers alike. It would be so easy to lift my middle finger to all of them but I don't have the energy for the repercussions that could make right now. Thus I very immaturely leave the damn bow on the ground, decide it's not the weapon for me (let Catpiss and her flat-chested look-alike have it) and go over to the Camouflage Station. For a second it's odd to paint and decorate my body and not a cake, to use mud, berry juice, ground leaves and a stick as my supplies but then the familiarity kicks in. I'm trying to copy what I see in nature on me, like the times I would go to the flower shop, the candy shop or the tailors shop to recreate things for special order cakes. Those cakes that called for something absolutely real were a rarity because of their expense so I always tried to surpass any request and expectation to make the cake worth the money. Plus, as the witch says, impressed people brag and bragging brings good future business. In less than four minutes my left hand is hard to tell from a tree branch and in eight it's impossible. I babble with the impressed specialist about different materials to use (which to avoid for long periods lest incurring a rash), the drying time, the color changes due to oxidation and the how different times of the day are only good for certain lighting. She and I are babbling on and on however I'm having a blast! More than anything it's the chance to create something, the chance to narrow my world down to this one thing and regain my mind a bit. I leave after one very fast but productive hour feeling totally rejuvenated and, funnily enough, happy.

I look around, determined to keep better track of the other tributes to today. It's a bit hard to be discrete about it but I manage; Hawthorne is the one more used to this as he's the one that gets jumped. Most of my intended fights, unless right at school have to be scheduled; if they were Seam guys, well they needed to ask me to the Seam to have a fight where the peacekeepers wouldn't be all over them and if they were merchant then like all fights in town one has to find a spot where the peacekeepers aren't patrolling for a half hour or so. All that means I'm not used to having to watch for potential attacks or picking up signs when I'm the person of interest. Still it's thanks to that looking around that I notice the tiny girl watching me with longing eyes. When she hesitantly comes close I don't have the heart to shoo her away.

The Knot Station seems like a good idea and it proves to be. The instructor is nice, seems excited to have the two of us and doesn't mind me making silly little rhymes or limericks to remember how to tie different knots. I make no comment when tiny 11's lips move silently repeating and repeating my words. Next he teaches us how to do a few snares and traps; I know this is a way my teammate hunts but now I have a new respect for it. Just when I think I've got it I'm proven wrong and my twitch-up snare closes on my wrist to pull me four feet into the air. Dangling there is a bit humiliating, especially under the orbs of a few amused Gamemakers and the District 1 male, who is fixed on me for some reason, but I pull myself up and free myself soon enough. It takes the full hour for me to get the two snares and one trap he has us learn and it's galling to think I could not have gotten it at if he wasn't taking extra care to explain it all clearly to 11.

The last hour and a half before lunch I (really we, since she won't leave my side) decide to it spend at the Edible Plants & Useable Plants Station. Holy burnt bagels! There are shit loads of different plants! I mean I knew that, because I use some to cook with and Mrs. Everdeen uses others to heal but these are more than I ever imagined! After about seven minutes of this random plant bombardment I stop the instructor, this mousy man may be very knowledgeable but he is a piss poor teacher. I don't know how other tributes handled him or maybe they just waited for the woman co-running the station to be free but I order him to separate the plants into 'food,' 'not-food' and 'make you regret it.' I have him further subdivide the 'food' and 'not-food' into 'will cause or treat' or 'benign' and the 'make you regret it' into 'fast poison,' 'slow poison' and 'non-deadly unpleasant.' I think Hawthorne or even little 11 could have learned the plants with his method but she seems to know some already and I know he does. Anyway this re-organization is working for me, and touching, smelling and even tasting the edible ones works even more. The man looks dumbstruck when I take bites out of his supplies and lets out a high-pitched girly-squeak as my tiny shadow joins in. I take particular note of the food benign plants (like which can be eaten as a source of water), the medical plants (one cures fevers, that is for draining infections, this is a bit antiseptic, one to kill fleas and another to fight off tracker jacker hallucinations) and the bad plants. Both the girl 11 and the instructor actually get uneasy by how much attention I give plants like nightlock (to help suicide) and this weird one that will give rapid, violent stomach pains (I never said I wouldn't fight back).

The lunch buzzer sounds and we finish up with the plants (though I may be back later.) I scan for the hunter but can't find him out here. A check in the cafeteria shows all the other tributes but him, so I (we) go back out to the gym. If it weren't for one remaining Gamemaker up in the balcony observing the Knot Station underneath him I would have missed them. Hawthorne and the knot trainer are crouched and whispering over something. I don't know why neither of them has been shooed to lunch yet, but it's time to retrieve my teammate.

They really are engrossed in something and have changed the station all around, making it tricky to get to them. There aren't any signs of the snares that the expert showed us earlier so I step into their little realm of oblivious-ness calling his name, "Gale." I take my third step as he looks up finally. His grays shoot open, his face turns to panic, his mouth opens just as my forth step lands and something snaps. Uh-oh. Ropes snag each of my feet, yank me off them and launch me into the air. The motion is so swift I don't have time to react and just see his horrified face. Up and up I go, the slight tug of the ropes release does nothing to deter my climbing ascent, until I'm eye-to-eye with the Gamemaker; 35 feet off the floor. For a split second I slow, coming to the peak of my flight and I realize that is not a dangling trap but some type of catapult launcher meant to break the tributes from the fall. My fatal descent starts and I'm on my way to a sudden death.

Part 14 End.

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Side Note: Sorry for the long wait, I'll try not to let that happen again but at this point this is the longest story I've ever written so it's a bit tough now. Standard reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's just me trying to find and fix all my grammar errors that I'm sure none of us enjoy.


	15. Part 15

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 15

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Falling. I'm falling, fast and helplessly. I flail but I can't flip over, I'm going to land on my neck or back. I relax, it's hard but if I want any chance to make it I have to be relaxed. The ceiling is getting farther and farther away. Things are zooming past my peripheral vision but I catch sight of determined Seam grays as he collides hard with my side, instinctually my arms wrap around him, locking him to me. Our bodies tumble over and over through the air only to impact and skid with a training mat. The landing force, though reduced, still knocks the wind out of us both but it doesn't matter. The glorious plastic padding at my back, my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the feel of his form atop mine; it just means I'm fucking alive! Our too-wide eyes meet in a breathless second, panic and adrenaline are still racing in my blood and even the concern creeping into his sure gaze is no comfort. Out of some unexplainable reflex I clutch him tighter to me and the sensation of his fast heart over mine is what does the trick; I begin to calm. When next he connects with my sky-blues we silently ask if the other is all right. I nod and he just grins; when I get enough of my air back I release him and he rolls off to lay sideways against me.

For a moment I lay there, so glad I'm not dead, then big dark worried eyes pop into our view. "Gale? Peeta? Are you alright?" asks tiny 11.

"Yeah, Rue, we're fine." Hawthorne answers.

Maybe he is but not I. My body feels fine physically but my brain is currently scrambled. I don't like heights or falling from heights so I'm a bit off at the moment. 'Didn't know he knew her name,' is the single thought that crosses my discombobulated mind before four training staff members come to check us on the floor. Past them I see some tributes filtering in and the knots instructor silently but hurriedly taking down all evidence of the hunter's contraption.

The staff wants to take us to the medical room again; this time for full body scans to have our spine, joints and muscles checked for damage. I want to refuse to go with them; I don't want more fussing but my teammate agrees, gets up and starts to go with them. I'd like to say it can wait until after training because we don't know how long it will take out of our day yet I know it's better to be checked out now than resist.

The doctors check for concussions though we didn't hit our heads and order us to return after training to check again. Then they have us go to a separate room to lay down on two tables while some big, loud mechanical bagels slide around us. They demand, over some speakers, we stay perfectly still for the two minutes it takes but then ignore us after so they can go over the 'scans' or whatever.

"Are you really all right, Peeta?" Hawthorne abruptly asks as he turns to look at me.

"Yes, I'm not hurt." My brain feels a bit better now, I always calm quickly from pulse quickening circumstances; however, it's still hard to logic it in my mind that he just saved me. I mean, holy bagels he saved my life! I'm alive because he stopped me from landing on my neck, because he tackled me and- "Gale! Are you okay? Did YOU hurt anything?" I whip my eyes to him to look him over. Stupid idiot! I should have asked sooner! I was so concerned about my own survival and headspace that I forgot about him! Thankfully he appears a mix of mellow and bored, not tense or in pain.

He breathes deep. "Yeah. I'm fine, nothing hurts at all. We're damn lucky that mat was there and it slid."

Yes we freaking are but I'm damn lucky to have a teammate like him that did that for me. He really could have been injured badly, what if he miss timed his sack and ended up under my falling self, or he didn't have the force to change my downward trajectory and just added himself into a dog-pile of hurt. I'm here because of him. I let my thankfulness show in my eyes and smile as I say, "Thank you for saving me Gale," in my warmest most grateful voice.

His cheeks color a bit and he shifts stiffly on his table. "Yeah sure," he says more awkwardly than I've ever heard him but he continues, "I kind of had to though."

My smile widens, I'm touched that he feels that way about my life even though he knows what I plan within the arena. Has he forgiven me my weakness? Maybe? It's of no matter since I feel truly happy at this moment; happy enough to extend my hand and ask for his friendship. My mouth opens yet he goes on:

"I had to repay the debt I owed you. You saved my family and Katniss so I had to save you. We're even now."

My heart constricts painfully, my happiness vanishes and my hand retracts as if burned. It does feel like I have been burned; like my hopes just got torched. Of course he meant it like that, his family is dear to him, he has a shot of going home so his thinking about home (unlike me) and he is Seam so if he feels there is a debt related to his family naturally it would be on his mind no matter the situations we're in. What was I thinking? Perhaps my brain is still a bit jumbled. None-the-less I feel foolish and ashamed for wanting another friendship I can't have. I can only say, "Yes." As soon as the word leaves my lips I hear sadness in my tone that is unintended. Damn it.

He looks at me sharply; he heard it too. "You…" He trails off, shakes his head and starts again. "You're happy you're alive and you don't want to die in the arena." There is an insistence to his voice that does not seem frivolous.

Was. I was happy, not so much now but what's with the stupid statement? "So what's you're point?"

He smiles for some incomprehensible reason. "We're even so I don't have to follow your bullshit plan if I don't want to, I'm free to even kill myself if I want."

I zip off the table, to his side and snarl at him, "Shut up! Don't say that! Don't even think that!" I get into his face, "You just mentioned them too! So what would your family do without you?" The image of them at the reaping flashes before my eyes. His mother's, brothers' and sister's tears. Their hopelessness. "What about Madge! What about Prim! And Katniss! They need you to come back too."

He scowls, and sits up but doesn't move away. The puffs of air he breathes out are brushing over my lips and making them tingle. I want to step back but I'll be damned if I back-down to him or even appear to! He seems to pick up on my mood because now a glint of challenge emerges in his beautiful Seam grays.

"This is serious you dip-shit! All of 12 is counting on you!" I screech.

"Well why can't home could on you, you moron?" He yells.

More tingling and it starts to spread to more than my lips but I return, "You know why, fool!"

"Haymitch told you to aim for the last three anyway so why not, you brainless blonde," he demands.

"You're supposed to be in that three, dopey, and like I could even make it to the top 10!" I spit out.

He pauses to narrow his eyes at me then sneers, "Are you such a coward you wouldn't even kill if we made it into the top 10?"

Coward. The word stings like all hell and I have to drop my gaze a bit as it lingers over-head like a dark cloud. Yet he wants his answer thus I nod; it is too much to say the words.

He scowls harder than I've ever seen him do before; it's actually a little scary. "Top 5." He states more than asks.

I nod again, it's still too much to agree to be so fearful.

He grabs my arms with both hands then through clenched teeth growls out, "Top 3. If you actually made it to the top 3 with me?"

What the fuck is he doing putting his hands on me? And with such bruising force? We can't fight here and I can't even struggle now or push him off without setting him off; I know that look he has in his eyes. His gray irises are sharp as knives and twice as ready. However it feels wrong not to fight back somehow and if he is going to be this pushy I'll push right back, "I'd offer myself as bait for you to use and lure out the last tribute."

His Seam grays narrow further, he leaves his table to stand and tower over me. This close those inches in height really make me crane my neck. He growls for a time before he grits out, "And if we were the last two?"

His breath is really setting off unfamiliar reactions in me that I don't like. Anyway I've had enough so I turn my head and start to push this insane, overbearing, thug of a male away from me. "I won't kill you, you idiot."

Hawthorne's hands come up to grab the sides of my face and force mine to meet his. Then he leans down, we're so close he's out of focus and for one brain jarring second I remember his brother and think he's going to kiss my nose. "Really answer me."

Ugh! I can feel his breath go in my mouth! It's so disorienting, to feel his hot air on my tongue and my gums so to get it out I shout back, "I won't kill you! I won't be the reason you don't make it back to your family! They need you! Madge needs you!" He can't seriously think I would ever kill him? Even if we were the last two, how could I kill him? How would I live with myself afterwards? My stomach curls at the thought. Oh god, how would I ever face his family afterwards? Nausea makes my guts churn violently at the repulsive idea.

He pulls back enough for me to see the grave look on his face. His eyebrows press so close they almost make a single well groomed line.

What? What now? No, don't look at me like that, it makes it seem as if he cares when my life is just a settled debt to him.

Still holding my face he says, "So where does that leave you?" Seam gray look nearly earnest with concern. "If we're the last two, you would what? Let me kill you? Suicide?"

"I…" I start but my answer is nonexistent so I can't finish. He is right I don't want to die and I'd fight someone off if they were trying to kill me. As a last resort I would suicide before I'd let someone else kill me; the Capitol has so much control of my life they can't have my death if I have any say in it. But I'm supposed to die right? I'm supposed to help him the win, right? So if it's just him and I as the last tributes, of course I should… let him… murder me… or suicide… Should…

It's not like there is some other way! I can't kill him, even if there were some way to out live him and become victor what good would it be? I would still be the person that took the chance to live away from him, took a better life from his family and took away someone dear to our district. His family and Catpiss are Seam, it's not like they would allow a merchant victor to help them out. I doubt they would accept any money even if it were as penitence. Also it's unlikely the witch would even permit me to try to give them anything. They and Prim will suffer without him. The merchants back home might welcome any business I give them but it would never reach the Seam or the traders his hunting has helped. I doubt I'd even be allowed into that old coal warehouse to trade face-to-face if I tried; I'd be shunned for killing one of theirs. The memory of the crowd from the reaping pops up, but instead of sad all those eyes now look accusing; it makes my knees weaken.

There really is no other way and he has to see that right? He's smart, more so he is clever or he would not have been the successful prankster that he was when he was much younger. So he has to see the situation for what it is thus I just say calmly, "You and I will do whatever is best for home and the people we love." It's an unlikely situation, our lives most probably won't come to that but we will do whatever needs to be done.

His face twists in revulsion and something else but he does not release me.

"Tributes of District 12, you may go to your lunch room now." A man interrupts over the speaker system.

Oh shit, we forgot about the doctors in the other room! We split from one another in a half a heartbeat. Did they hear? With any luck they did not hear that information or they could gossip it to sponsors and who knows what would happen then?

Immediately my teammate and I book it for the exit but as we leave I see that the only person left here is the Gamemarker from the balcony. Holy bagels, was he here the whole time? Will what we said affect what they do to us in the game? No right? It's supposed to be all based on skill, right? In the hall I glance at Gale to ask him that very question but freeze when I see how pale he his. "What is it?" I inquire instead.

"That was Seneca Crane." He whispers.

Crap On A Fucking Cake! Seneca Crane! The Head Gamemaker! I feel myself pale too. It can't be a good thing to have his attention! He's the one that makes sure we get murdered, either by other tributes, by the arena or the Gamemakers themselves. Crap On A Fucking Cake! However, before my traumatized nerves can go into full panic mode a young voices calls,

"Oh! You're back! Good! We can have lunch now!"

We? Gale and I turn to see little 11 come out of a doorway to join us.

She smiles cheerfully at us and says, "I guess you two really were okay! I'm glad."

We don't need to confirm with each other to know we won't reject the girl so in sync we smile at her. I personally don't mind the company, he's being so odd anyone that eases him up is welcomed. Though, honestly, her presents is having the same effect on me; she is so young and fresh it is effortless to focus on her upbeat smile rather than my worry. As we enter, get food and eat (though I've lost my appetite) the tiny thing that was so quiet yesterday and this morning perkily tells us what happen after we left. All the tributes wanted to know what the thump of our landing was but the knot trainer wouldn't say and the Head Gamemaker ordered them to lunch before leaving after us. She had hid in the supply closet so as not to be questioned and thinks the others still shouldn't know much about the 'send-you-flying-trap.' If the looks from the Careers and braver tributes are anything to go by they are roiling with suspicious intrigue. Just great.

We spend the rest of our forty minutes chatting to the child, mostly about the good and bad points of our respective homes. While the topic brings a pang of longing in me, I'm more upset to learn about how harsh this young girl's life is. I've never thought too bad of home and I know my teammate did not mention some of the lesser aspects of home but I hadn't realized we were so lucky with our lenient peacekeepers. Mostly they just break up a fight if they find one, not arrest people for fighting. Damn. All in all it is nice to talk with the girl, er, Rue LeClaire as it is very distracting of all my other concerns.

Just before lunch ends we head to the restrooms and I get the joy of discovering Rue is one of those girls that is comfortable chatting while in the stalls. I am not, neither are Madge or Catpiss and we collectively don't understand the girls that are. Needless to say, I hurry the matter along, it's for this reason we exit in time to see D4m try to corner the hunter and D2f creeping up behind him. I close the door on tiny 11 and intercept the female Career. She blinks when I cut her off, stepping into her personal space but I'm not about to let her pass.

The District 4 male Gale can handle, the tribute is the smallest of the Career males and not too much bigger than my teammate. From what I've seen of him and what Gale has said, unless he has a halberd or his hiding some serious strength then one-on-one he is not a threat. She on the other hand is a different matter. Although she is the smallest Career she is one of the most deadly if this morning with the knives is anything to go by. Still, barehanded as we are I'm sure I could beat her. I did watch Mr. Anton a bit yesterday, she's not strong and fighting isn't her best skill. However that would give away my one secret skill and I'm not willing to do that.

"Move." She demands, certain that her being a Career, an inch taller and twenty pounds more will guaranty I obey.

"No," I say with calm and meet her strange brown orange orbs. This is actually familiar ground for me, this happened occasionally back home; it's the non-spectator reason why I would watch-over his fights. Hawthorne would usually take on whomever whenever armed with whatever but if I was there I made sure the fight stayed fair. No one was allowed to sneak up behind him, join the fight after it started, pull out a concealed weapon or aid the guy(s) that fought the hunter in anyway. This type of thing was where all my unintended fights came from but it was part of the fun in my life. He thinks so too because he returned the favor with a malicious grin when he could.

"I said move." She growls, fists balling at her sides. She is obviously a bossy girl, used to getting her way. Her knuckles crack with tension; getting her way by force apparently.

"I heard you the first time." I've taken on full-grown, pissed-off, out-for-blood men (husbands of unfaithful wives); she, here where she can't kill me, is not a threat. In the arena I'm sure she will be, but he is my teammate and I'm not letting her get to him while he's already handling the other Career. "Just wait your turn and you can talk to him after he's done."

Her weird colored eyes narrow dangerously, "Get out of the way now or I'll take my time skinning you in the games."

Ew. That is a gross thought and somewhat unsettling but since I'm so used to skinning I'm not too outwardly affected. Calmly I answer, "I'm sure you'll try to either way so I'm not letting you by 'til he's free."

She snarls but the slight shock in her features reveals that was definitely not what she expected; possibly she uses that skinning threat regularly. She comes closer, her face in my face while her right arm tries to sneakily rear back to wind up for a punch.

A surprise attack isn't going to work, I'm hyper aware of her body and ready for a few minutes of dodging if need be. This is not the type of person to go after Gale without first taking me down for being defiant. Just as this bitch tenses to let loose a scuffle sounds behind me followed by the sounds of a punch and a gasp. Her view shifts but mine stays on her, I trust him to take care of himself.

An unfamiliar groan of "You fucking bastard," and the District 4 male comes over to her while clutching his gut.

When my teammate comes to join my side I can't help smirking at his smirk. I know we are freaking imbeciles for provoking the Careers like this yet it's not our nature to cower with our tails between our legs. If they were looking for a repeat of yesterday morning well too damn bad!

She flushes red with anger, hisses, "See you two in the arena!" and storms off with him in tow.

I sigh and wonder if this day will be enough to make Ms. Trinket drink; our mentor will surely jump on the chance.

Part 15 End.

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Side Note: None.


	16. Part 16

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 16

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"You can come out now Rue." Gale calls softly and she does. Oops. I forgot all about her. "You need to say away from us for the rest of the day Rue, we've angered some Careers and you would make an easy target for them."

She frowns unhappily; I'm reminded that she's just a child in this horrible situation and we were the only ones giving her company. I smile my friendliest smile at her, "It was nice having lunch with you, you're good company." My fellow tribute nods to agree.

It's only a slight comfort and her smile is proportionately small. "Okay," she murmurs.

"Good, we're going to go in, I want you to count to 20 before you do and sneak in if you can."

Tiny 11 nods and we leave then split up when we enter. He's off to whatever and I go to the unpopular First Aid Station run by a single old codger. He seems happy to have me; well I won't be getting sponsor gifts so it's best to learn this now. With both of them away my head divides into two things. One part is all the things the trainer is telling me which are somewhat familiar from patching myself up (learning the hard way), from what Prim did to fix me or familiar from the things Prim would babble about healing to me as she fixed me up. That girl loves healing and to talk but when not in action her mother's mind is barely there and Catpiss can't handle more than a sneeze (paradoxical for a huntress no?).

The other part is a mess of too many things: Gale Hawthorne's bizarre behavior, my hope that it doesn't come down to us as the last two, the truth that Mr. Abernathy is a stubborn drunk (he might drink at night to escape his dreams but if so then why all daytime drinking back home?), my near brush with death that made me admit I don't want to die, our spilling the beans to the Head Gamemaker (since he is still watching us from above it's likely he heard the whole shebang), our being too nice to a 12-year-old tribute that has to die and of course most recently, this Career bitch whose freaky peepers I can feel on my back!

I let out guttural growl a without meaning to and the trainer looks at me sharply. I shake my head to refocus but I can't; D2f in particular is distracting. So two Careers and counting are lusting for my blood. They are both distance killers but D1m is the threat up close too, Gale says he can fight and his size is no joke. He is second only to D2m and my best defense against him will likely be to run (zigzag) the hell away. She on the other hand, if alone and if I could survive getting close to her, I think I could take her down. Yet how to do it without killing her? She would just come after me again, next time prepared for my strength.

"Careful now, girly. My you're a strong thing. You want to set the bone, not crush it." Says the old instructor.

I look at my hands around the very realistic dummy, I was so lost in my thoughts I was not holding back as much as I normally do. As I observe the limp thing in my grasp an idea hits me. "How much force does it take to break bone?"

He raises one bushy eyebrow and asks, "Do you really want to know?"

I wouldn't have asked if I didn't but I just nod instead of vent my impatience.

He smirks but asks in his kindly tone, "Can you keep your face straight, girly?"

I set my face and nod; what's the big deal? Just answer my question! In the next moment he does and well… I walk away an hour later dazed, nervous and more than a bit traumatized. He grumbles that I'm just like some Cresta girl but the honeyed sweetness of his voice is still ringing in my ears with graphic, gore-riddled stories of violent deaths of tributes in games past. His information will be useful, he is some sort of medical specialist and knows the simplest ways to damage the body but he is also a sick fuck that got off on my horror. My legs are a bit unstable as I leave but my face is still blank. That vile man did give me a vivid crash course in all the weak points of the body; I never realized how amazingly fragile I am. Most of it (the parts I will try my hardest to forget) is overkill but there are a few things I could implement.

I go to the Stealth & Tracking Station hoping some physical activity will help me clear my short-term memory. The instructor this time is normal and after a few minutes of lecturing about knowing where your prey is comfortable, how intelligent is your prey, how long their stride is, the good and bad surfaces for tracking and what counts as a clue or not the trainer has me try. I fail miserably at this; I'm not used to the woods/forests, tall grasses or even mud and once I explain this we switch to stealth and covering my own trail. The later comes easy, the former… Well… Apparently I have iron blocks for feet and make a thunderous noise. I do not get 'walking softly' and I try to avoid the leaves, trigs and branches (I really do!) but the trainer insists I'll scare every animal away with time to spare and attract any tribute within forty paces from me. It's not good news to hear and to reassure the distressed instructor I know what silence sounds like I have to demonstrate tiptoeing and walking soundlessly on the solid, clutter-free gym floor.

Tiptoeing is something my Madge and I are great at. Mrs. Undersee's headaches can leave her absolutely noise intolerant sometimes so I learned to move silently in my friend's house. It was either learn or give up hanging out with Madge; the choice was clear.

The flora is still foreign to me so I'm still making a racket and the idea of surviving in the woods is more daunting. What the hell do I know about surviving a walk through the forest, let alone a stay? I've only seen the forest beyond the fence a few times; it's dangerous so it's not a place to visit. I'm kind of hoping for a concrete jungle now or something more artificial for an arena because straight nature may kick my ass. I give the station a little less than an hour then move on; hopefully to something I have a chance at mastering and will ease my mind.

The Edible Animal Station I try to see if it's not a waste of time, it's not. This trainer goes over what is in season, where/how to find it, what are signs of it, what eats what, what animals could come after us and some general cooking guidelines.

I do try to get the details, but my head is still not okay so I go to the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station. If the thoughts won't go away may as well put them to use. The difference is evident to Mr. Anton and me. I use what he taught yet I'm much more defensive than I ever was before. I dodge lots, block a ton and keep our distance greater which actually is a disservice as he has reach on me. We spare for five minutes prior to him calling it quits and lecturing me for another five. It helps however it's not until I finger the pin that I feel… more myself. For the next twenty minutes of fighting I cement the lessons of Mr. Anton, still defend more but attack up close, very close. I don't use the attacks the medic described or what I thought up for two reasons. One, I don't want to give them away to the other tributes. Two, I can't hurt this kind instructor like that, doubt I'll even be able to practice on Hawthorne later.

For my last hour I choose the Navigation Station but Gale cuts me off just before I arrive. I raise an eyebrow instead of bothering with words; wasn't he against the check in with each other plan?

"Do the Knives & Dagger Station next, you need to be able to fight back from a distance." He orders.

I blink, since when is he the boss of me? Also any rock, stone, hell even my shoe can be my distance weapon, what do I need knives for? And the dagger is more deadly than I want to deal with. I almost shake my head to disagree however it clicks that this is a bargaining chip. "Only if you agree to go to the First Aid Station. If you really don't think Haymitch will help you'll need to learn it and you should ask the trainer about some of the body's weak spots." This will help him in the long run and if it unnerves him like it did me, well that's what he gets. He nods without further word and leaves for the old codger. Wow, that was easy, especially with the mood he seems to be in I expected him to fight back on principle. I feel a bit guilty for not saying more to prepare him though I don't know what could possibly ready a person for that trainer.

Again, like with the spear, the proportions of the weapon and the attentions of the Careers (D1m & D2f) are something to get used to. The instructor has me train on correct grip and throwing technique with a target board just 6 feet away from me first; it does not take me long. The knives are easy, too damn easy. My first practice throw at a blank wall 15 feet away makes me realize I'll have to hold back a lot. The knife sunk in half way up the blade (I barely put any muscle into that) and exactly in the wall where I aimed it. Next the trainer has me target a bull's-eye 25 feet away and I have to practice not hitting the center and the very specific spots I pick. Soon enough hitting the center every once out of eight tries gets dull and frustrating so I demand the instructor throw some small moving targets. He doesn't want to but it's good for me to practice with things in the air instead of the ground; maybe I can hunt birds like this in the arena? Some I hit close to center, some I miss by large margins, some I nick and some I miss by millimeters but always on purpose. I switch to the mannequins and have the nervous trainer just throw the dummies at me, too afraid of the "misses" to do more. It's much harder to miss vital spots on a moving doll than I'd like but at least thanks to the First Aid Station I know where they are.

A lull in the ambient racket of the gym accentuates the whistle of the blade cutting the air. I focus on that for the rest of practice since that whistle could well mean death in the arena. With each throw the noise becomes more distinct to my ears. With each knife the sound becomes something I can isolate in the air. With each release of the weapon the whistle informs me direction and speed of the thing.

I think 'maybe I can get my ears to learn it well enough to survive an encounter in the game,' and immediately feel a bit of anger flare in me. No one should ever have to be listing for that particular noise and it's only because of the fucking Capitol that I'm having too. I glare at the superior metal in my hand, that if not for the cruelty of sadists would not be anywhere near me. For a second the temptation to hurl it away from me, hard and fast is crushing. I just sigh, reign in my temper and realize the day has taken more out of me than I thought.

Too soon it is 7 o'clock but it's almost a relief when Hawthorne and I are escorted to the medical room to be checked again, it lets me avoid a stared down with the Careers and thankfully the Head Gamemakers is not in attendance this time. The exam is quick this time and we the catch elevator by ourselves. It's the only pause we get because after that Mr. Abernathy and Ms. Trinket are all over us once they learn about my launch-n-rescue, the thing with Crane and that tiff with the careers don't help any. After dinner, they split us and push harder than ever, Ms. Trinket especially, as she believes now that we have been noticed we should have perfect mannerisms to impress him. (Tomorrow night I start with heels! Feh, I'm so looking forward to it!)

Our mentor dismisses us to spar but at the last moment lazily adds in, "Yes, it was a draining day for you Sweetheart, a night in your own bed will do the trick." Oh I catch the orders in his words; if I wasn't so damn tired and just irritated in general I'd be tempted to bull-headedly at least provoke the damn bastard.

As it is I have more important matters to deal with, like my fellow tribute. We meet in the bathroom again, but this time I'm determined he won't be nailing me in the chest! There will not be a repeat of that, ever. The hunter stands across from me, his mercurial mood is hard to read so tonight I wave my fingers to invite him and stay on my guard. All that caution is for not because what happens next can only be labeled as pathetic; the first aide instructor must have gotten to him as he is ridiculously defensive, slapping away, dodging, ducking and hopping around like a mad bunny to avoid my attacks, even going so far as to pinch his way out of one of my holds. Holy bagels, I sincerely hope I was not this glaringly bad with Mr. Anton; that would be so embarrassing!

At the third hard pinch to the back of my hand I have to suppress a growl; it's not like that will work against a Career! And he can likely handle the other district tributes so why practice it? When he backs away this time I don't pursue him to continue the spar, instead I try something different. I get into a defensive stance that is also perfect for springing into a kick and ask, "Is this how Mr. Anton showed us or am I missing something because it feels off."

Seam grays observe me for a long minute then he inches closer to answer, "Your left foot isn't out far enough and you need to turn your toes out."

I adjust, it does feel better, with more flow and I practice the kick and the retreat a few times to get it down then switch to a new stance. "What about this one?"

"He said to bend more at the knees and you need to un-hunch your shoulders."

Again I obey and we are off from there. We go over all of Mr. Anton's moves, correcting each other and practicing only a specific move at a time. He eases back into his normal confidence in his fighting ability and strangely enough this becomes kind of fun. Gale really is a natural fighter and a surprisingly clear teacher. Soon we are both comfortable enough to go back to sparring but we don't stop talking, instead now we are comparing notes on the different things we learned at the different stations.

This is the longest I've ever talked to him and even if we are just sharing information it's nice. He really does have a clever mind because he has already thought of lots of scenarios in the games where this lesson could help him or where not watching out for a certain situation could hurt him; it's interesting and insightful to hear. When my leg goes numb from pins and needles it's only then that I realize we stopped fighting to sit on the floor with a towel so he can show me the finer points of knot tying he picked up.

In stretching my leg and trying to ignore the tingling in my limb I stupidly ask, "Where did you learned to be so good at explaining things?" Even before the slight smile on his handsome fades away I'm mentally kicking myself for asking. I already knew that answer.

His gaze is pointed across the room but is very unfocused. His voice is distant but tinged with a painful longing when he responds, "I teach Rory and Vick how to fight and Posy is always full of questions."

I'm caught completely flatfooted by his answer, both awed and unsure of why he would share that about his life with me. So Gale's youngest brother is named Vick and his sister is Posy? In a way, I'm happy to learn their names, the names of the young lives that are counting on him to return but the subject of them has hurt him and now he it getting up to leave. I feel like I need to say something of matter back to him, something that acknowledges the importance of what he shared. Impulsively I grab his wrist before he can get away and blurt, "Tell me about the forest back home!" I cringe the instant the words are out. Damn it! I'm so not used to talking (real talking and not useless polite pleasantries) with people! Of course he won't want to talk more about home right now.

The Seam male's striking orbs glare down at me but surprisingly he lets my hold on his forearm stay. "Why?" he demands.

"Because I don't know the forest and you do and the stations suggest there will be some type of forest and maybe you can handle that and maybe I can too but I've never even been near the fence and we were always told to stay out of the woods and now I have to know and now that I've failed the stealth station I'm feeling-" I halt myself before I can say scared but I'm sure the long rambling tells him anyway. I inhale deep after that huge mouthful, finish with "apprehensive" instead and sheepishly pull my own hands away.

The expression on his face is the same as it was on the train, looking at me as if he is trying to look into me. It is unsettling but the intensity in his attractive face is something that can't be brushed off. Finally he decides, "It's late, we'll talk in the morning" and walks to his shower.

All I can do is pull my foot out of my mouth and comply. It's fifteen to midnight but it takes me less than that to be ready for bed. It's some kind of twisted when this place and beauty creams of sort become familiar to me. For a split second the disappointment/ residual hope in Mr. Abernathy makes me think about at least checking on him but every part of my body is just too damn tired to make the trip to his room. Whatever energy I had while talking to my teammate is gone without him. I collapse into bed, thank the stars for this bed and go out like a light a second later.

Hands shake my shoulder vigorously and sleepily I roll away to the comfy safety of the other side of my bed. I don't want to wake up because there is no way it's time yet, for one I'm still exhausted as all get out and for another my internal clock is blaring that it's still well into the night. My blankets get pulled off me however I don't give a damn and just curl up. I'm not leaving this bed before I absolutely have to. The small hands are persistent though, this time they alternate between shaking my arm and trying to pull me off the bed. Whoever this jerk is they aren't very strong as I'm not sliding an inch no matter the tugs. Yeah, the only thing these slender fingers are doing are preventing me from sleeping and making me angry.

Finally I decide to wake up enough to tell this a-hole to piss off, as I open my lips a loud 'BAM!' rips through my room. I lurch up and awake to see the redheaded Avox girl pulling me, distress in her light eyes and a nasty swelling puffing up her left cheek. A scream goes off and I leap from the bed. Gale! That is Gale! I dash to his room in time to see him tossing and turning wildly on his bed, enough to slam his elbow on the headboard with a sickening smack and still keep going. Shit! Diving on the bed I go for his limbs to restrain him, I miss the first attempt and get a knee to my crotch for my failure (if he weren't in the middle of a nightmare right now I would so return the favor!). After some of the strangest struggling and wriggling ever (he's shirtless, sweaty and smelly, ew!), I get the upper hand manage to wrap my body around his so at least he won't hurt himself. In response to this he rolls us over, pinning me under him.

I freeze and flush at the same time. His breath is hot on my ear and side of my face, his weight is pressing into me and most of all the length of his muscled lean body is running the length of mine. I can feel his taunt flat chest squished to mine, restricting my air some with the pressure. I can feel his long, strong legs run the distance of mine and surpass them at my feet. I can feel his ripped abdomen against mine and subtle undulation of his breathing. I can feel the thickness of his limp arms along both sides of my torso. I can feel his pubic bone dig into the very tops of my thighs with his dormant genitals perched just between them. All these feelings make me light headed as most of my blood is infusing my blushing skin, which just makes the sensation of him all the vivid.

It is irrefutable that I am aroused by this gorgeous delicious body, an awkward dampness in my shorts makes it so; however, this is Hawthorne and he surely would not want this were he awake. Guilt for taking advantage of him like this and shame for being such a pervert hasten my release of him. It is an ordeal getting him off me without more of us pressing or rubbing against each other and it is hindered by this sleeping idiot. Thankfully the nightmares seem to have calmed but in their absences he is actively clinging and grabbing at me. I don't know how often he sleeps with company in his bed back in 12 but after five attempts to escape him while he is still amazingly fucking asleep I'm guessing more often than not. At last I at least maneuver to my side with him flush to my back, now if I could only unwind his arms from my middle and get his leg off mine I'll be able to leave. Suddenly he presses his face to the back of my head, nuzzling into my hair and breathes out, "Katniss."

Abrupt pain stings my heart and for some indiscernible reason all my strength and energy leave me. I should yell, I should smack him awake to flee, I should run to my bed to enwrap myself in my covers yet my body won't move and no sound will leave my throat. A few seconds of immobile cluelessness pass before I remind myself there is no reason for the pain. Of course he would want her, out of everyone back home it would be her to bring him out of a nightmare. What was I thinking? Trading survival trips does not make us close. The tightness in my chest does not ease but I focus on his warmth, his peaceful breathing rhythm and his heart beat against my back. Unfortunately it does more than shift my attention, I relax into him, into his comfy bed and before I realize it I'm gone before I think to get up.

Part 16 End.

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Side Note: None.


	17. Part 17

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

A.N. Maybe if I write it up here people will listen: Please no reviews.

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PART 17

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Small hands pat my shoulder and this time I know to wake to them. Her bandaged face is before me and she is motioning to the bathroom. The sounds of a shower are coming from it and it brings me back to just where I am. Holy bagels! My face heats as I remember last night and the girl raises an eyebrow at it, which just heats me even more. Oh holy bagels! I nod thanks to her and scoot out of Gale Hawthorne's room. It's not the traditional "walk of shame" as the witch calls it when we see a merchant girl sneaking back home in the early hours but I'm certainly feeling it.

Back in my room I almost decide to skip the shower but his scent is all over me. It's my fastest shower ever and even then I can't help wondering why his is still going. I'm in and out of my bathroom in record time, but I do leave something for the Avox girl and order her to 'fix the mess in my bathroom.' The healing cream should fix her cheek right up, though I do feel a bit bad for writing my message in some flowery lotion on the counter.

It's six thirty when I go out to find breakfast is laid out, hopefully the first one of the day though doubtfully the last. I eat a plateful quickly and when my partner doesn't come out by the end I decide to postpone any outrage he has by checking on the lush. It doesn't take nearly as long as I'd like since he's locked his bedroom door from the inside. Well, fine then! I think about tossing the booze on the cart out again but since it's daytime he'll likely just inconvenience that poor Avoxes for his liquor.

When I go for my second plate of food (thankfully still the first version of breakfast) he is there and eating. We don't say anything and I'm tempted to flee before he finishes but I'm not cowardly enough to make him hunt me down if he has something he wants to say. Once he slides his plate away, surprisingly he just points for the lift and I follow his lead. He says nothing on the way down so I don't either.

The wall clock reads 6:50 when we hit the basement floor but the large, heavy gym doors are locked tight. I'm about to break the silence and ask 'what now?' when he starts in on the lock with some slim pieces of metal. In about 40 seconds the doors are open for us; I'd always wondered how he had set up some of his pranks at school when we were younger. It turns out my fellow tribute has been picking locks for a long time. Hmm. My mother must never know about this talent of his or she'll be screeching it to the peacekeepers and to every townie in 12 while painting him in the worst light.

We go to the Archery Station and it's much the same on my part as it was the last time but not for him. He is significantly better; he is faster, making three shots in the time it took him two and he is startlingly accurate hitting the very dead center or whatever spot on the dummy he calls out (like the tip of the nose, left pupil, knuckle of the right middle finger, notch between the clavicles). Even on the moving mannequins that I send spinning or tumbling at him he precisely hits his shot every time. It's really amazing what he is doing with that bow and the arrows and just when I think he couldn't get any better he switches bows and proves me right. What the hell?! For the first time this morning he misses by a wide margin and it takes him a bit to get his accuracy up. Soon the small thrown targets he has me throw are taken down dead center no matter how many or how weird I throw them. Then he exchanges the bow for another bow and the whole thing repeats. I get it, if there is even a bow in the arena who knows what type or what size it will be. I notice that with this smaller one he doesn't reach the level of accuracy he gets with the ones that are his size.

He practices for half an hour before we have to hide his pincushion and the used targets in the closet again. Though this time I notice he has to pick the lock on the closet door. I guess the staff doesn't appreciate it, oh well. Next are the knives from the Daggers & Knives Station and we take turns tossing small targets and human target dolls for each other. This time I make sure to hit dead center with my every blade and I'm very pleased to see that I'm far better than him. Oh Hawthorne is good, great even but I'm damn better! I admit it is kind of fun to show off, to excel at something and display the talent yet the enjoyment dies when his expression takes on a creeped out look. Yeah, I guess it doesn't make much sense for a merchant from home to be so good with throwing knives. Hoping he doesn't think me too weird I explain my old exterminator job and the practice with aim it gave me. That seems to ease him; well there are more than a few rats, not many cats and no dogs (Prim once murmured about soup or something?) in 12, so only the really rich can afford the luxury of a pet cat (with the exception of Buttercup).

At 7:50 he says that we have about 40 minutes or more before the Careers come and he surprisingly wants us to work on my weakest skill. Again I write off Shelters, Hammock Making and decide against everything but stealth. He's a hunter so he should be good at it right? Or how would he hunt? And besides maybe he can tell me about the real woods as we do it. When I mention the idea he just mutters something about tomorrow being Sunday with such reverence I know I missed something.

Anyway what happens next seems to be cringe worthy, or at least for him it is. With each crack, snap, crunch, thud and smack of my trekking through the course set up he flinches, twitches or visibly winces. All his reactions would be funny if these weren't the same sounds that can get me dead in the games. By my third attempt I can tell by the closeness of his brows this is one subject he doesn't have his usual patience in teaching. By my sixth time through I've completely worn through any good will he had for me.

He growls, "Mellark, you're doing this on purpose aren't you." It's too much of a statement to be a question.

Nervously I shake my head. I'm really trying my best however my best is making him look at me with such contempt he may wring my neck at any second.

He snorts and glares fully force for a moment. "Then what the hell's with you Mellark?"

Okay, that's enough of that! "No, what the crap is with you Gale? It's not my fault I never chose to cross the fence, you know, I'm just more used to the indoors."

His comely grays meet my blues for a beat more before he sighs and orders, "Fine Milky, try one more time but with your shoes off. In fact just strip and see if you'll notice then when you trample, brush or smack into things."

My cheeks heat violently both at the suggestion and the name he just called me. Milky is a Seam name for an annoying, pampered merchant who is so useless or lazy that their skin never sees the sun. I've never been called it before in my life and am more than a bit insulted by it. I've always worked hard and I'm in fact sun-kissed for an indoor merchant (though it's not much compared to his Seam tones of olive and tan). I'd like to say something back to him however I bite my tongue and check to see if he is serious, he is. "No way in fucking hell is that going to happen," I mutter but I do take off my shoes, tie up my shirt in front to expose my midriff then roll up my pants and sleeves. This time the only difference is that 'nature' is touching me back. Branches and twigs rub my arms, tree bark scrapes my middle, plants tickle my calves and every little thing is poking me particularly through my socked feet. It is weird and disturbing to have this contact on my skin yet nothing right on the clothed parts of me, I must really not notice slight pressures. It's now a struggle not to react, not to jerk away and just endure the unfamiliar sensation without spazzing out. I'm not used to touch and it makes me clumsy (hello mud, dirt and grass stains!) in trying to get away from it only to hit something else. I nearly sigh in relief when I finish then just curse profusely when he tells me to do it three more times.

By the end of it I think I'm finally doing pretty well, until my teammate scowls at me and shows me how it's done. Damn freaking prick doesn't make a single sound, leave any trace or get dirty in the slightest! And the smirk on his cocky face is so obnoxious I'd love nothing more than to hurl a mud ball at it. 'Well at least this proves my point about being a hindrance to him in the arena,' I think as try to brush the worst of the mud off me.

When 8:30 rolls around we clean up some, exit and he locks the doors behind us. In the lift our mutual muteness allows me a moment to think. I kind of have to wonder just how early he was there yesterday if he has such free access to the gym and how much training he really got in. Something tells me he was there very early but what was it that sent him back to our floor if he had the place to himself? He had lots of time to eat or change, hell so did I so why come up so early? Unless it was the Careers that drove him out? Is that why he knows when they will show up? Is that why we are leaving now? I almost ask but I don't know how to without it sounding like we're avoiding them like cowards or that he might have yesterday morning. Was that why those two Careers tried to hassle him after lunch? In any case it is the smart plan to avoid them, as galling as it feels.

"Go clean up then meet me on the roof, I'll tell you about the woods there." He says and exits as soon as the doors open, leaving me to trail after him.

I hurry to comply, washing, dressing and re-braid quickly, so eager to learn more but when I catch my happy smile in the mirror I halt. I must remind myself that his help does not make us friends; that dampens my smile quite a bit. Maybe I'm a bit lonely? I'm used to having Madge, my brothers and my father to talk to (and reluctant merchants from home to chat at), am I trying to get the Seam to fill the void? If that's the case I'd better stop and suck it up because being alone in the arena will be best. I grab a coat and two blankets from the closet and hustle to the roof.

The wind is going and the many clouds are a murky gray-blue, it's not a warm morning. It may rain later. I plop down next to him, bundle up and toss the second blanket on him. He doesn't react, just looks out into the horizon like a stupid statue. Part of me is annoyed that he is being so dramatic about this and the rest of me worries this is somehow touching on something deeply personal. I see it is the later when he starts abruptly, still not gazing anywhere but straight in front of him. He talks about the way everything needs water but that doesn't mean that water is readily available. He speaks about the fitness of trees and types of tree, as an indicator of water, ponds and rainfall. I guess that makes sense. He gives me vague descriptions of their leaves, but detailed ones of their bark and smell. He explains how water and sunlight will effect vegetation density and how that can leave you in the thick or thin of things. I have to wonder which will be better for me; thin means I might have less to make noise with but there isn't cover from other tributes and thick might mean that they'll just hear me but won't see me. He adds how vegetation and the water availability will influence animals. He details the signs of animal tracks and burrows. He suggest where and how to hide the twitch-up snares, especially since it could give my location to other tributes. He spells out how to tell a healthy creature from a lame one and that from a rabid one. He tries to clarify the sound and smell of certain animals but that is too foreign for me to picture. When I tell him this he finally turns to me and it's with slightly nasty look in his eyes.

"Well you wouldn't need to worry about that or the woods if you would just stop being an idiot and stay with me in the arena!" he snaps.

My sky blues narrow at him, "Who's the idiot, if you want me and my thunderous feet to pair up with you? I'd scare every animal away and lead the Careers right to us. Even if it was just two Careers, I'm still not killing anyone so what use am I to you? You moron!"

His eyebrows try to merge from the harshness of the scowl he gives me. "You're still the idiot, Milky! How do you expect to survive long enough to even get a sponsor if you're such a natural racket? You'll need me to live long enough to even wiggle your rack at the arena cameras!"

My face colors with anger, my fist clench and itch to punch him but I leave. I just get up and leave him there. Maybe what he said is true (though vulgar) yet I'm no less right and a fight or argument about it right now helps neither of us. Childishly I stomp every step down the stairs, keep stomping straight to my room and then stomp around for a bit. It and a few deep calming breaths help, surprisingly, and I ease into just pacing the room. I don't know what his problem is but I'll find out once we're both calm and stay away from him until then. Yeah, that's a good idea and it should be an easy strategy to stick with… So why can't I stop pacing? It's a really good idea… Or at least that is the plan before a peek at the clock shows it's just 8:56. Damn it!

I want us to be on the same page going into the arena. There is no telling for sure where we will go from there because of the nature of the games, none the less starting on the same foot will give me some piece of mind. I'm not sure how much time we'll have to talk and settle things until we go in, Haymitch hasn't talked about the private session this afternoon aside from us being last and each must do one thing we are best at (archery for him and weights for me). He also hasn't said anything about tomorrow or the day after at all. Yes he is a very comforting mentor, really makes us feel just so prepared. Bastard.

I glance at the clock and curse. It's just 8:58! I've been stewing for two minutes (that felt like twenty) and done absolutely nothing but make the slightest groove in the carpet. Way to be productive, Mellark! Oh great now I'm criticizing myself. I fiddle with Madge's pin, sigh and know what I have to do. Marching out in the dining room I grab a serving tray from breakfast (2nd, 3rd, 4th?), load it up with foods I've seen him like, hot teas and juices and head for the stairs.

He's still there, still like a statue; a handsome but stupid statue in worsening weather. I resume my place and shove the tray into both our laps. When he turns to me I just shrug, say "Fat for the games," and start eating. After a beat he goes for the hot tea first and I totally understand, the blanket that I left has gotten cold so it's unpleasant to put on. The quiet munching is kind of nice for some reason, it lifts my mood though I swear a second ago I was mad at him.

He waits for the food to be gone to randomly state, "So Rory was right about you not being a lesbian."

But not the drinks… HAK! I choke on my orange juice at his question. Still coughing I can only lift an eyebrow at him, silently asking 'What the hell man?'

He ignores it and continues, "He even called dibs on you last year. Of course we all thought it was a joke, but he made it Seam wide. You said he liked you so do you like him?"

I start hacking anew, maybe on orange juice irritation, maybe on air or maybe just on embarrassment. Despite my spasming throat my cheeks stain red, both at this topic and with whom I'm discussing it with.

My fellow tribute's eyes widen and he spurts, "You like him?" with incredulity packed in every word.

This makes me redden more at the mistake and I have to vigorously shake my head. "No." I rasp out then go for the remaining tea, it helps. "No I don't like him." As flattered and hopeful as I was back at the Justice Building his past antics in no way endeared him to me. True I kissed him, but he was hurt, sad and in need of some kind of comfort at the moment. I was also a bit touched at his feelings for me (as I am) so I wanted to help. Still, under this gray-orbed scrutiny I can't help feeling embarrassed that I pecked his little brother at all so my face flushes even more.

The hunter leans in a bit, visibly disturbed, "Then why are you so red?"

I manage to throw an 'Are you stupid?!' look at him however it doesn't phase him so I actually have to say, "This an embarrassing topic, can we just drop it?"

It's his turn to shake his head, "No, this is important. I need to know how important he is to you." He says so very seriously.

I blink, uncomprehending at this. My teammate's suddenly earnest face makes it seem like a reciprocated crush is life or death. Some of me just wants to ask, 'where the flying fuck is this coming from' but the rest pauses to think of the most honest answer I can give to his urgent question. Rory, since the second time I saved him, has always been the little imp that made my life a bit more hassle some. And while it was enlightening to see he had bothered, provoked and half tormented me out of some highly juvenile, vastly immature and all out childish crush on me it was by no means appealing. Under other circumstances, IF in few years time he grew mature enough tell me he liked me (in words, not antagonizing actions) I would have tried dating him but it would have been out of desperation, sprung from a desire not to be alone. Aside from his behavior, Rory is just another none-fighter boy; no sweeter, no meaner, no kinder, no cruder and no more especial than any average boy to me. That last bit I verbally share with Hawthorne.

He nods and retreats from me some, "Right, that's about what I thought." Then casually lets out, "So if I died before you in the games I don't suppose you'd start killing for his sake."

I freeze, as I am supremely uncomfortable with the thought of him dying. In fact I have actively not been thinking about that. I want to tell him not to think of it, to tell him that won't happen, to tell him not to entertain the thought of it happening but he just did me a service. He just shared some of his inmate knowledge with me I cannot replay him with hollow placations nor can I ignore it all together. I can't help sighing before I say, "If you somehow die before me Gale, I'll go back to trying to win the games my way."

He tenses, grips the bench beneath us then frowns and states, "You can't win without killing, Mellark."

Instead of tensing in return I relax. I'm not going to fight him on this, it's my life to live and I have final say. "Maybe, but I can sure as hell try."

"And what about the people at home? We're both fighters, they are hoping for one of us to be victor, hoping for that parcel day, hoping just to have some hope, are you going to let them down?"

I look at him sharply. That stings; his words sting as they were meant to. I did not know he could or would say such things. None-the-less the words bring up the crowd at the reaping and this time there is a flicker of hope in every face. Some people's faces are more familiar to me than others but that just makes the longing more vivid for me. However I won't let that sway me, I won't kill.

He just doesn't understand, he never had to fight every single day just to be who he is. He never had to really look at himself and see parts of himself people would rather he not have. He has never had to be conscious of his every decision. He has never had to wonder what is true to himself or what is just from expectation of others. He was always just accepted for who he is, no questions ask, no struggles and no doubts.

I try to relax again as I reply, "I'm going to try my hardest not to let them down but that doesn't mean I'll kill for them." 12, if they can't have him, won't care how I win so long they get their parcel day.

His brows gravitate towards each other, "What about your family and Madge, won't you kill to get back to them?"

At that I scoot away from him, upset and no longer wanting to be anywhere near him. Out of a sense of fairness I don't get up and walk away. So it is out of a twinge of anger I tell him with conviction, "They love me, they love me the way I am. I'm sure they would like me to kill if it meant I could return but they love me enough to understand and miss me."

My family, well except for the witch, loves me. Even when they tried to change me or just cringed at a mannish action of mine they still loved me. Madge is the only one who has never tried to change me and I have no words for the depth of gratitude and comfort that gives me. Unbidden I remember my father raining kisses on my forehead and his large, sturdy arms squeezing me while my brothers kiss my head through my hair between their angry accusations of stupidity. I also remember being with my Madge not long after. These combined memories sting my heart much worse than his words ever could.

Now he looks more agitated than ever and he spits, "What about my family? Would you kill for them?"

The second I realize this is his underlying concern I understand. He's worried, actually as I look into his smoldering eyes I see something I've never seen in him before; fear. He is scared for his family. No matter that the mayor will help them some he was probably planning to provide for his family at least until his sister was of age. He needs assurances that they will be alright but there really aren't any I can give. And besides I need assurances that he will win, all my hopes, fears and sanity are ridding on him. I don't want to die and I don't want to kill, so I need him to be strong. My fingers come up to rub the pin though after a bit I still don't have an answer for him. I watch as the realization enters his eyes and for the first time I feel my regretful of my decision. More to it, I feel guilty about my choice and what it's doing to him. I think I would agree to change myself, just a bit, if it would erase that condemned look on his face. However murder, for the Capitol's delight or his family's sake, is still wrong. He's asking me to agree to kill a person, a peer, someone's dear friend and family, another district's hope. I just can't do that nor I can say anything to comfort him but… "Isn't enough? My life for yours, isn't it enough?"

He pauses a moment then turns away. Only the sound of chimes is in the air. He just opens his mouth to say something when a drop of rain hits and slides down his cheek. It's time to go.

Part 17 End.

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Side Note: Sorry to leave it on a low tone but Part 18 won't be posted for some time. Again sorry but real life is in the way. Just thought you should know. Oh and I'm still looking and hoping for a beta, any volunteers? (No, not a hunger games pun.)


	18. Part 18

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 18

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It is tense and louder today than the two days before. The Careers in particular are grunting and roaring as they savagely attack the dummies while scarcely any of the other tributes will approach the weapons. The Gamemakers above all look too bored to be bothered, except Mr. Crane who's eyes seem to be flitting around every where. All this is to be expected.

I spent my first half hour with Hawthorne reviewing the plants (scandalizing the instructor with each bite or sniff I took). I think I actually managed to impress him though the mood between us was still unclear. We parted after it and the next 30 minutes went to doing runs on the stealth course (I'd gotten better but the trainer was unhopeful). The hour after that was given to learning how to fight with a staff. Yesterday during dinner Mr. Abernathy complained about me not doing a close combat weapon and insisting the Careers and other tributes won't be coming at me empty handed. The first twenty minutes were an odd mix of getting my ass kicked by the specialist, just getting used to keeping a weapon in my hands and discovering that my skill with trajectory allowed me to dodge much better than I expected. The following forty were learning how to block instead of dodge and discovering I suck at attacking with a weapon (silly me for never having gone after anyone with a baseball bat).

My remaining time is going into learning dagger fighting like Haymitch wants but two things make it difficult. One is ignoring the District 2 Career going hog wild with the knives at the same station (I'm sure she is hitting the crotch of the manikins on purpose) and the other, more important reason is that daggers are really deadly weapons. My ripped sleeves, shirt and pant legs prove it.

Three whistles and three 'thunk's off to my far left. The blade stabs right at my chest but I manage to bring my own up in time to knock it off course. In the split second before the hand holding the enemy weapon can re-direct at a downward angle to come for my face I throw a left cross that ties up my opponent's other hand so my foot can sneak in a kick to his lower belly. The trainer goes stumbling back with a gasp that turns into a cough. He curses me under his breath (loud enough to hear from the balcony) and attacks anew. Four whistles, two perfect 'thunk's and two off target 'bap's. His free hand makes a fist in an upper cut that I use my own to block but it's a grab, not a hit he makes. The moment his fingers close on my forearm the dagger in his hand comes at me low, aiming for my guts. I twist, not breaking his hold yet putting us almost back-to-back and ram my elbow into his kidney. He grunts and collapses forward. Distantly I hear the whistling of flying knives stop. Without getting up he takes a slash at my legs rather than a stab, forcing me to jump back, it's his opening to spring up and charge. The specialist comes in with both his arms up, one swinging with the other stabbing. I wait until he is well stretched before I meet him dagger-to-dagger and fist-to-fist. I still can't use my full strength here at the station but I plan to push up to unbalance his extended body, turn into his unarmed side and knock him to the floor. The first part goes as expected, even the start of my parry works but then I hear it! This whistle is off, it sound's like Haymitch's knife. My eyes find it, the fast flying silver blur, that if I judge correctly, is headed for my neck! I don't have the time to shake off the instructor and move away, in fact my counter attack has me leaning into the blade's trajectory. I can't even pull my dagger up to-

Pain, a hard wrenching pain explodes in the base of my skull and I loose both my footing and weapon from the force yanking me harshly backwards. My back slams into something hard, it's solid and warm but still the pain does not cease. Instinctively my hands run to my head, down my braid and to the hand that has a tormenting hold on it. My fingers try to pry the firm large ones they find but they won't budge. My hair is yanked again, downward this time, forcing me to look up and up into icy blue eyes towering over me. The orbs that peer down at me are unreadable though a sudden knot in my stomach assures me it is nothing good. There is utter silence in the room so I'm sure everyone can hear my thundering heartbeat. I'm also sure that every eye is on us as they know I'm no safer now than I was a second ago.

The very edge of his mouth lifts (facial tick or what he calls a smirk?) "I saved you, shouldn't you be thanking me?" asks the Career from District 2.

A flush of indignation colors my cheeks, thank him while he is forcibly holding me to him, yanking my head backwards, exposing my throat and causing me pain? No, I don't think so because right now it just feels like he's trying to bully me and you never thank a bully for picking on you. Anyway, I know he has been eyeing me these last days like a number on his kill list, same as D1m and D2f, so did he save me for himself or some other reason? If the torrent of bloodlust in his eyes from the first morning was anything to go by he certainly didn't help me out of any sense of mercy. I try to dig his fingers out of my braid again as I spit out, "Maybe I will once you let go."

Something intense and hot shifts behind those ice blues that sets off a reaction in the rest of him. I tense as along my back, rear and legs his body begins to radiate a sense of strength and indomitable power that presses into me. How the hell is this even possible? Never-the-less my muscles locking seems to be what he is waiting for; the hand under mine slacks, the pain eases but instead of simply releasing me his right hand, with his sword held in a reverse grip, comes up to lay on my belly. I pale at the feel of a rough knuckle on my soft skin through a tear in my shirt. Yet it is the cold, sharp metal suddenly pressing against the inside of my open thighs that makes my heartbeat go insane. Is he really going to slice up my legs right here, right now? A blond eyebrow cockily elevates, as if to inquire, 'how about now?' and I am utterly speechless.

"That's enough Mr. Vici!" Shouts the Head Trainer and it's enough to force my eyes from him to her. She is marching forward with two more trainers flanking her, one of them Mr. Anton. "Let Miss Mellark go and return to your station." Further back behind them another trainer is halting a pissed off Gale.

At the sight of my angered teammate my senses snap back to me. No this thug isn't going to be slicing and dicing me up just yet, he'll have to wait a bit more. I push at his armed arm; he doesn't fight it so I effortlessly slip away. Once I'm out of easy reach (of even the sword), I send a nod to the Seam to reassure him that I'm fine. The hunter's return look seems unconvinced. Unease, adrenalin and aside, I really am all right somehow. No, not somehow, because of this Career I'm not bleeding out from my throat on the floor. Whatever his motivation, no matter what he is plotting, regardless of his thoughts towards me he kept me alive just then. Reluctantly I turn to him and say, "Thanks for saving my neck." It's awkward because I don't fully mean it, I don't trust him and he seems to know it. Hell everyone standing silently around us can tell, too. He sneers at me but I do sound ungrateful.

Heatedly he snaps, "I'd say you owe me more than that." He takes three steps towards me and it's like a tall wall of muscle walking; he really is so big. And so confident, the skilled Mr. Anton tries to block his path only to be totally ignored.

I hold my ground though part of me would like to step forward too, to match his posturing. Squaring my shoulders and straightening my spine seems like a partial substitute. My adrenaline is diminishing and allowing more rationality back into my brain. Even if he is a Career (and thus an awful sadistic bullying killer-to-be) I am grateful for my life and his twisted part in sustaining it. Whatever his actions or reasons, it's just nasty on my part not to at least say so. I take a breath, meet his eyes and tell him, "Thank you very much for saving my life," more earnestly this time.

It's definitely a smirk that appears now yet it's not cockiness that drips off it. Something has changed in this mercurial male again (he can't be stable). The heat in his eyes is still there but something indiscernible is behind it. "I don't think that covers it. Yeah, you definitely owe me more than that. It needs to be a more satisfying 'thank you'." There is a strange note to his tone and his eyes choose then to run over my neck.

What the heck is he talking about? I can feel the bone deep puzzlement taking over my face and apparently it sets him off with his own puzzled face. My mouth opens to ask, the words are on the tip of my tongue however Gale's familiar hand grabs me and shoves me in back of him before anything comes out. What the hell? I didn't need rescuing! I was fine!

"She said 'thank you' and that's all you're getting from her." I hear my teammate snap at him.

He catches my gaze and locks on over Hawthorne's shoulder. The blond brute is totally ignoring the Seam and as his own lips open I know it's to talk to me-

"This Is BULLSHIT!" The barked outcry cuts him off. "I Am NOT Leaving This Station!"

Oh what now?!

It's impossible not to look over at the infuriated Career after that deafening out burst. She is standing in a straight but aggressive posture as she faces off against Atala, whom seems to have left us for a more volatile tribute. The Head Trainer still has one other trainer with her (Mr. Anton is near us) and is looking very determined. "Ms. Krueger, you have lost the privilege to train at this station. You can move to another station or return to your floor for the remaining half hour, but you may not stay here."

Her weird orange-brown orbs are shooting fire into the smaller trainer, like she is trying to murder her with all the poisonous rage in her. "I don't see why, she's fine anyway." She spits out. Then to make a point she breaks the stare-down to sweep her odd eyes over to me. Once she sees me watching, her stance has the audacity to relax some and in a louder voice she announces, "It was a slip of the wrist." Then to take the whole cake she smirks at me.

Smirks at me!

That homicidal dipshit bitch fucker is smirking at me!

My face heats in fury and all thoughts of her district counterpart become a moot issue as I glare back! Her that has the gall to smirk at me with a knife in each hand and a horrified instructor not a foot away. Her that has the brazen balls to do it with of every one here watching her. She shrugs and mouths 'Oops.' Yeah, right, 'oops' my ass! If that was a mistake then I'm really a Capitol citizen! I stomp round the hunter to my dagger, snatch it up then mouth back to her 'bitch cheater.' The wimpier tributes take a dramatic collective gasp. Her face contorts into a ferocious scowl then slowly, oh so theatrically she raises a knife and runs it in front of her throat, in front of all other tributes, trainers and Gamemakers. Is that so? In reply I raise my middle finger to her. Now the Gamemakers join in on the collective gasp. Oh yes, it's on Cunt! And another thing you-

"Ms. Krueger, you will leave this training station." Atala interrupts again (she is so good that it). "Immediately." She growls lowly, and it's like a switch has been turned on. She no longer seems so cool, calm and composed as she has the rest of the time. It's something about her suddenly ink black eyes too, that now come off as creepy.

Finally D2f snorts and backs down. She throws the pair of knives from her right hand, they whistle through the air and she gets two perfect bullseyes in the dummy's eyes. The bitch gives once last menacing smirk to all of us watching then marches over to the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station. Arg! Okay, it's official, I don't like that twat.

Before I can think of doing anything well deserved Atala turns and pins me with her heavy black stare. It's a little intimidating (I have to hold back a flinch) but message received; she wants me to behave or she'll move me too. There really isn't a choice but to let it go at this point, not with so many watching at the ready. Not with my teammate already giving me such looks of disapproval. As for the huge Career beside him (Vici right?) he does a few glances between his partner and me before snorting and going back to sword training without a word. Too bad his leaving doesn't relax Gale any.

In a few short steps (wow his legs really are that long) my fellow tribute of 12 is in front of me and somehow calling me 'The-biggest-brain-dead-moron-of-all-time!' with just his face. I discover a couple things in that moment; one Gale can 'talk' with his expression and two it is very hard to argue with a face.

I try anyway, "She started it."

One dark eyebrow rises as if to say 'And-that-justifies-you-being-a-massive-idiot-and-painting-a-target-on-your-back-infront-of-every-person-here?' and takes browbeating to a whole new level.

"She threw a knife at my neck!" To add to my statement I point to the support column that ended up impaled in my stead; a third of the blade is sunk in. "This couldn't be avoided." I defend. The condemnation is unrelenting, damn it, talk man! "If it was you would you have done anything different?"

Very lowly, at last he chooses to speak, "Same as you but I know what I will do when she comes after me, do you?"

Good question… And with it I feel the weight and reality of my situation sink in. Crap. As much as I dislike the girl I do not want to kill her. Beat the bloody snot out her, most definitely but not end her. For all the horrid, villainous nightmare of a person she is, I'm sure she still has family, friends and people that care for her back in her district, just like me. Somehow, deep (super deep) down, I'm sure she is a relatively normal district citizen that does not deserve to die for the Capitol's amusement. Shit. A fight with her wouldn't be like back home where the loser can usually still limp away. Hell it might not even be a fight, she could just decide to kill me from afar, no warning, no fair shot. She's already proven to be a murderous cheat so no guaranty on what she'll do in the games. Oh I'm in more trouble than I realized. I'm of no help if I die the first day.

"We're wasting time talking instead of training." My teammate says out of the blue then stomps off. There is a new level of tension in his shoulders and neck that somehow I know are my fault. Fuck.

"Are you going to stand there or are we going to train?" Asks a voice from behind me, it is the bored dagger-fighting instructor. Twenty minutes left to train, I'm confused, flustered, angry, frustrated and emotionally unsteady. 'Suck it up, wimp.' I think and go at training like my life depends on it because it does.

When the buzzer sounds many make for the lunch doors to eat and wait for our private session with the Gamemakers. As announced this morning before training we will be going by district number, from lowest to highest and boy then girl. The thing is that this time the doors do not open.

A low tone goes off from the above and we all turn to look. "Attention tributes," says Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane and scans us to be sure we are listening (as if we're stupid enough to ignore him). "It has been decided that your lunch will be served on your floors. Your mentors will be joining you shortly and they will inform you when we call you down. For now go to the elevator and only enter with your district partner." His sharp aqua orbs fall on to me then flick to D2f. "Do so quietly and do not cause the staff any problems. That is all."

Oops. The weight of many eyes press down on me. Thanks Mr. Crane, just thanks so much for making it strikingly obvious why we are separating. Guess you couldn't just let it go and now you don't trust us in the cafeteria alone. There is no need to look to know gray eyes are on me too, can practically feel them on the back of my skull. I just wonder if his eyebrows are finally going to merge this time.

We are stark quiet as we line up for the lift; ordered from one to twelve with out having to be told (it's sad we're so programmed for this). The tension only dissipates once all of the single digit districts have left and the silence when tiny 11 speaks up.

"Peeta, are you alright?" She whispers softly, but her concern is evident in her voice and even more in her big doe eyes. Behind her the tributes from 10 leave.

For a split second déjà vu shocks me then my wits kick in and I smile my brightest, friendliest smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. It'll take a lot more than what she can dish out to rattle me." It's totally untrue, but I refuse to scare her. She is too young and too innocent for this shit, no need to make it worse. "Thanks for asking but what about you? How are you?"

Her small, thin shoulders shrug neutrally however the slightest of trembles show how uneasy she is.

"You'll be fine, Rue." Gale inserts with an easy calm and a warm smile. "Just keep your mind on your focus and you'll be fine." As he says this he taps his finger to his temple then winks roguishly at her. He makes the very picture of cocky confidence, on the outside.

LeClaire, clever girl, seems to pick up on what he means but does not make mention of it besides a short nod. The elevator doors open behind her.

"Don't underestimate yourself. We're both sure you'll get a good score." Is all I can think to say (I've never cheered anyone but my brothers on and that was more along the lines of 'Beat that wimp! Give him a limp!'), yet she smiles anyway.

Huge 11 then her enter and she just has time to tell us 'Good luck you guys,' prior to the doors sliding shut. Once she's gone, the mood in the air nose-dives into something bleak.

"She's too young for this bullshit." My teammate spits out.

I grunt in accord, since at this second there aren't words strong enough for how much I agree. Our ride is silent, I can't get her smile out of my head and he may be the same.

Food, far too much as (grotesquely) usual, is set out by the time we reach our floor and we dig in. We're only about half way through when the faux-calm is shattered by Mr. Abernathy's booming arrival.

"What Did You Do?!" He angrily shouts. His face is flushed, his eyes are flashing and his lips are so tight they seem pale and paper-thin. He looks so pissed and fierce I unconsciously lock up. This brings my doom and his raging grays to me. Oh, crap I'm in trouble!

"Answer Me Now!" He demands with a snarl and stomps right to me.

"Haymitch please stop shouting! We need to be able to hear their side of things." Ms. Trinket (previously unnoticed in the wake of our mentor's enterance) says cajolingly. "I'm sure the rumors were far exaggerated. Look, they seem fine."

Mr. Abernathy doesn't answer, doesn't say a word but he does lean down into my personal space to look me dead in the eye from just six inches away.

I never imagined that under his lackluster mask he could be so fiery and forceful. I'm caught flatfooted and flustered so the words just tumble out. "Career threw a knife at me but another Career saved me, she got in trouble and pissed me off so I pissed her off, then she promised to kill me so I flipped her off. But then we went back to training and then came up here that's it so it was all her fault!"

Our mentor blinks slowly while our escort freezes behind him. He pauses a sec then says, "You want to run that by me again sweetheart?" This time his voice is controlled back down to normal volumes.

"The Career girl from yesterday sent a throwing knife for my neck while I was training, I couldn't get out of the way on my own, her district partner pulled me out of the way-" "That's not all he did." Hawthorne growls but I press on. "She got moved to a different station but before that she mouthed 'oops' and I mouthed back, then she cut in front of her throat and I gave her the finger and-"

"_YOU DID WHAT!?"_ This time it's Trinket that shrieks. "_IN FRONT OFEVERYONE? INFRONT OFTHE GAMEMAKERS!?_" Her voice is piercing, unbearably shrill and for no sane reason should I nod but I do. Off she goes!

"_ALLTHATWORKMAKINGYOUDECENT MAKINGYOUPRESENTABLETOTRUESO CIETY TOERASINGTHEDARKSTAINTHATYOU AREFROMTWELVE-_" High, loud and very fast in her Capitol accent!

Pain erupts in my ears and I cover them yet it's no use, she's too close.

"Effie!" I hear our mentor try, only because he is so near.

"_ATTURNINGYOUFROMBARBARIANSIN TOVICTORS! AHAHA ICOULDJUSTSCREAM IAMSOMAD ALLMYHOPESDOWNTHEDRAINDONEIN BYTHATATROCIOUSFINGER_-"

The sound of her strident screeching is penetrating into my brain! Ack! Did she just go an octave higher?!

"EFFIE!" The Seam tries again, and though his deep sound is a small relief it does not stop the onslaught.

"_SOHORRENDOUSLYRUDESOUNCLUTH SOCRUDELYILLMANNERED! IWILLBEAPPOLOGIZINGFORMONTHS ANDITWILLBEYEARSBEFOREICANEV ENAPROACHSLORCUS ANDEMILANWILLBANALLFUTUREBAR BARIANSFROMHERGATHERINGSFORE VER! SOFORGETABOUTEVERGOINGTOHERA GAIN-_"

OW FUCK! Her voice is breaking my ears! And my mind! It must be because I swear she's turning bluish.

"EFFIE! EFFIE!" Gale tries uselessly.

"_OHSHEWILLHAVETWELVEBLACKBALL EDFORSURE! OHHOWCOULDYOUSHOWSUCHCLASSLE SSNESSTOTHEGAMEMAKERS? DIDYOUNOTEVENTHINKABOUTTHERE PERCUSSIONSNOTTHINK-_"

She's melting my brain! She's going to kill us all, her included because she's definitely turning blue in the face but not stopping!

"Euphemia!" Haymitch yells.

Silence. My ears ring for a bit then sweet blissful, silence. Oh thank the stars she stopped.

Our escort stands stiff and hard as frozen iron, slowly her violet gazes travels from me to him. In contrast her face goes from blueberry blue to her normal chalk white to a vivid hot pink quite quickly. Her lips purse and her eyes narrow a smidgeon, "I thought I told you never to call me that."

The elder Seam nods and makes an expression that is the picture of contrite (yeah right, there's no way that's not fake). "Ah, that's right you did, Eu- er, Effie." He smiles dastardly at her. "It won't happen again, Effie."

It's a lie and we all know it but her name's Euphemia?!

Part 18 End.

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Side Note: Cato Vici comes from "veni, vidi, vici" which is Latin for, "I came, I saw, I conquered." Clove Krueger, yes Freddy, I know, but it stuck the best out of some truly awful alternatives. Oh and about Effie's caterwauling, I've tried to fix it several times but for some reason it always turns out like that. Not sure what's going wrong.

So sorry for the month long wait. I'll try to have the next part on Monday. Again, so sorry for the ridiculously long wait.


	19. Part 19

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 19

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Aside from her name being Euphemia (Ha! Ha! Ha!), I've learned never to think of Ms. 'Effie' Trinket as harmless and unarmed, as long as she doesn't have laryngitis. That being the case I am trying my hardest not to laugh or even crack a smile. Hawthorne must be of the same mind because he is sitting ridged, perfectly still (is he blinking at all?). We must over play our hand because in the next second a heated lilac gaze is on us. The funny looking scowl is back and pushing the limits of my restraint.

Suddenly her face takes on a patronizing look and in an even tone she says, "You two truly do not understand the gravity of this punishment do you? This hurts you much more than it hurts anyone else."

Punishment? Okay, now she has my real undivided attention however it's my fellow tribute that asks, "What hurts us?"

She looks us over to see if we're serious then answers, "Every other district has two mentors, only one is needed so they can split the time and they will. They will because now is too important. The real sign ups and donations begin once the first tribute is requested before the Gamemakers. As soon as the boy from District 1 is called money can be transferred from your sponsors to your accounts for use in the arena. This morning and the days prior were times when Haymitch and I could coax promises of sponsorship from potentials, nothing is for certain. Usually promises are kept without problem and usually the mentor, in your case Haymitch, can be there to sign for the transfer yet now that won't happen."

A very bad feeling starts to sit on my shoulders and I want her to stop but my mouth doesn't seem to work.

She frowns and her words become more clipped. "Now he will have to wait here to tell you, District 12, the last ones to go, when each of you is being called. He, at this very moment, is missing the opening sign ups, sponsors that we have lined up, worked so hard to get, are either watching others sign up or being approached by other districts. Add to that the rumors going around and you may not have sponsors left by the time Haymitch can get out."

No. NO. NO! Tell Me I Did Not Just Ruin Gale's Chances With The Sponsors! Externally my body freezes and pales but internally my mind swims, my heart sputters, and my guts clench so hard they might implode if I don't puke first. NO! NOO! NOOO! I gag and gag again.

Older grays glance at me once before stepping forward to snag Effie. "Which is why you are needed to make sure that doesn't happen. You need to keep them to their words, pacify them and keep others from poaching them. We've worked hard at this Effie but they are your contacts, you can do this! The duty is yours, escort. Now's the time to show your capabilities!"

Lilac eyes go wide and she nods, shakily at first, then with determined vigor. "Yes. You are right! I will go do that! Leave it to me!" She makes for the elevator but our mentor follows her and even pushes the button.

"Actually now that we know the facts I think you could turn the rumors to our favor, you know how they love every detail that comes out of the games." He says as the elevator opens, "This certainly spices up the situation. And adds to the anticipation? They-" The closing doors cut him off.

He's going with her? What about the new rule? And what are we- I look to my teammate but he is half watching the doors and half deep in thought. Crap, crap, shit, shit, fuck, fuck! I might have taken away his chances for sponsors! If not I've definitely hurt them! No! Nooo! I'm supposed to help not hurt him. And now I've hurt him even before the games begin! A heavy feeling of guilt and shame sinks into me going from the top of my head, through my body and down to my toes. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. If Gale can't win, if home can't be helped then what is this for? What are our lives for? A lump forms in my throat, on instinct I cough to try to clear it and the sound causes the remaining grays to turn to me yet he quickly turns from me. Shit. "I'm sorry Gale. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen."

"It's fine. I'd have done the same." He says but he won't look at me. Un, I feel as low as sludge.

He is angry at me and has every right to be. I knew, out of common sense, not to give the finger during training, in front of people. Yet I lost my temper and I did it anyway. Arh! I'm angry at myself too. Angry, guilty, ashamed, down right stupid and more than a bit helpless. I have to make this right, I have to make this loss up, somehow. We sit in silence just stewing, Gale in thought of some sort and me in turmoil. I don't even know how to fix right now, when he won't even look at me, let alone later when it counts.

It seems like hours before Mr. Abernathy returns (thank frosting he returned at all!) and he tells us to hold a bit more. He doesn't seem mad anymore, if anything he is strangely upbeat which is just great for my still clenching gut. He goes quickly to his room and comes back with a flat box. In the blink of an eye his hand dives into the box, something metal glints and a whistle starts in the air. I dive, out of my chair and roll away, a second whistle sounds. I'm well away and on all fours by the time the first hits my seat and my ears can tell that the second isn't heading towards me. There is a scraping sound, a smaller noise then the 'thunk' of the blade.

"What The Fuck Old Man?" The younger Seam shouts, already standing, table knife in hand. Glad he at least has the presence of mind to ask because I simply blink and rise as I realize what just happened.

Our mentor just grins crookedly and relaxes into his usual lazy stance; all he's missing is something to lean on. "No more dropping your guard now boy, not for a moment of thought. She was faster than you. A second volley would have actually giving you a run for your money."

My teammate just scowls, clearly unpleased by the words and lack of answer. I'm still wondering what the hell he did that for but I won't ask yet. I'm not breaking my focus on him until he's unarmed.

"You know, I saw a few interesting things on the way up here, as I stopped at all the floors. Every single tribute is training or napping for their time to come, and a lot of the outer district mentors are squeezing in last minute tips. Course they weren't too happy to be intruded on…" He trails off.

For a second my jaw can't decide if to drop or let me smile then the smile wins. If he is saying what I think he is saying, then Haymitch Abernathy you are gold!

"Since we find ourselves in this unique situation, you two need to come out the other end with high scores. We are going to take a gamble and do a long session."

What? I thought he was actually going to train us some. Also, weren't we only to do one thing before the Gamemakers?

"Instead of doing one station you're both going to do four, like the Careers do. It takes that many, usually, to score like they do. You need at minimum an eight but it would be better to get higher. Before this you two would have gotten there easily but now since Crane has cooled to you…"

My shoulders stiffen on their own. An 8 or higher? No one from 12 has ever gone higher than a six. We could have scored like the Careers but now because of my finger we might not? ARH!

"The key to this is doing each station perfectly. The Gamemakers won't like that you're doing four each so you need to impress them. Skill, brutality and bloodlust impress them. Also- ah, here it is," he turns to the red haired Avox that snuck up on all of us (maybe not the guys but how the hell is she so quiet?) and looks over a few things on her tray. "This will work, now show me your hands."

He means us, in a flash he is wrapping our wrists, knuckles and hands in gauze and some weird sort of tape.

"They won't allow this for the games but they let the Careers do this before their private session. This will protect your hands so don't hold back, especially you sweetheart. If you want any chance at all you don't hold back."

My wrists and hands are squeezed and stiff. Now my range of motion has been limited. The gauze over the knuckles feels strange though not as much as the tape between my fingers. Thankfully I can still make a tight fist but does he really want us to fight, here, now? The question is moot when Haymitch flips the lid on his box and shiny knives twinkle menacingly at us.

"You expect us to throw with our hands taped up like this?" Gale asks.

It's with a slow grin that our mentor answers, "Throw and dodge, you are each other's target." He straightens a bit, "It will get you ready for the stations."

WHAT? Dodging wasn't part of any station! "Just what do you want us to do for them?" I half shriek.

I'm sort of in a daze after hearing what the obviously brain damaged elder Seam says he plans and it's the only reason he gets away. Well that and his claim that he needs to make calls to support Effie. The daze can also be blamed for my not resisting when my teammate drags me off to his room, replenished box in hand.

Without delay he goes up to the single plush wall in the room, makes marks on it in several places with a blade and returns for half of the remaining knives. The quiet whistle of his first throw (though horribly off target, shit!) snaps me back to myself. Is he crazy? He's really going to go along with Haymitch's plan? When he's been absolutely faithless in our mentor from the get-go? Still the hard line to his brow and the determined look in his eyes shows he means it.

Well, that's that. I'll follow his lead, whether this is a good idea or not, I owe that to him at the least. After all, it was my short-tempered finger that made this mess. I grab the four remaining weapons, get to practicing, and damn do I need it. The wrappings on my hands really get in the way! It takes a while for me to compensate for it and Gale even longer, but it does happen. Soon the original points are obliterated and pale stuffing is hanging out.

We both pause to realize it's pointless now (literally, target obliterated); before either of us says anything and more importantly before I can loose my nerve (though I will Never admit it!) I go to stand before the wall. "I'm ready." The look he gives me is so full of disbelief and incredulity that it pisses me off. What? Did he think I'd wuss out? "I'm ready and waiting, unless you're nervous?" The glare that inspires is much better.

"Two at a time, first one's coming on your left, second on your right." He says and then without further preamble throws a pair of knives, one after the other.

I don't have time to scowl at him for such insulting information, like I couldn't handle. I prove it by dodging the two incoming he sends. It's too easy so we move it to four at a time. It's still effortless with him telling me which blade will go where but for now I focus on the sight and sound. We trade places when I'm doing all nine trouble-free and with minimal movement. With him we encounter the first problem, if the knives hit the floor or don't stick in the wall they have this terrible habit of bouncing in nerve-wreckingly random ways, sometimes with the pointy end still coming. It occurs to us then that we should try practicing getting in close, as we would if someone were really after us in the games. That, plus no longer knowing which directions the knives are going for makes for many unpleasant close calls and more then a few expletives and profanities. When his room is ruined and we start tripping over torn up carpet we move to mine. I get the steel I stole out from under my pillow, ignore the lift of a dark curious eyebrow and we proceed to wreck my room with all ten of the set.

At 5 Haymitch comes into stop us, telling us to eat and rest up. He's just about to go back to smooth talking sponsors on the phone when he catches sight of our hands. "Damn it," he swears and comes closer to inspect us. "How loose are the wrappings?"

"Both still pretty tight." I reply.

"Left one's fine, the right is coming apart." Gale answers.

Our mentor sighs and says, "Take them off and go shower, come see me after and I'll re-tape them. Oh and don't change into your uniforms just yet, you'll need to look unrumpled and as good as possible later."

I move to comply instantly but my teammate hesitates for a fraction of a second then leaves to go to his room. His silent departure does not go unnoticed by either of us, though we say nothing about it. The hunter is suddenly on board with the elder Seam and who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth? Though I can't help to wonder why now?

In short order we are clean, wrapped and fed and with nothing to do but sit nervously at the table. I don't like sitting here, for one it is boring and two the food in front of us is the same from lunch. Not that it's bad that they finally stop wasting food; however, now it's likely part of our punishment and thus a reminder of my fuck up. I could get up and go, yet my fellow tribute has chosen this moment/ this spot to get lost in thought and I don't want to leave him. Not that he needs me, certainly not when I'm making his chance of survival slimmer. I sigh and glance at his face if only to gage his mood and receptivity to conversation.

He really is so handsome, even like this, with his dark brows kinked in thought, the slight tension in his strong jaw and his pink lips pressed thinner than the full thickness that they are. This is a face all of Panem will see and it is the face they will all hopefully love. At the very least it is the face that will be noticed, the hunter is the best looking male tribute this year... Actually best of the last three years. He-

"You're being creepy, Mellark. Quit staring."

Wow, it's possible to blush and flinch at the same time, and to think I would ever miss him calling me 'Panty.' At least that tells me where we stand. Shit. To divert the topic I blurt, "You should go nap, you need to be fresh for the Gamemakers and not be here stewing over it all."

Gale snaps open his mouth, likely to retort something hotly yet it dies before he gives it voice and ends up a sigh of his own. "Yeah, maybe." After a beat he nods and adds, "Should is right, just sleep is not likely to come. What about you?"

"Think some time on the roof would be nice, just feel like some space and air would be good." Maybe I was wrong about us. Anyway his admission makes me realize just what a day of highs and lows it's been for him too, he needs to unwind a bit if just to break up this monotony of stress being put on him. "You should try sleeping in my bed, it's softer."

The long look that inspires is uncomfortable and totally uncalled for.

"What?" I demand. I'm attempting to be nice here, bridge the possible distance between us and aim for his good graces. His bed is as hard as a stone compared to my fluffy, downey goodness. I mean it is a nice bed but somehow he ended up with the short end of the stick because mine is paradise.

He gives one last measuring look then questions, "If I do will you be joining me like you did last night?"

Heat blasts my cheeks and my vocal chords seem to freeze so it's up to my head to shake vigorously.

The amused smirk that pops into place seems less mocking than usual. He rises, proclaims he is fine without it, takes about five steps towards his room then pauses to look back. "Just why were you there?"

I blink. He really wants me to say it? Say I care enough about him being okay to try to help. I could write it off as just making sure he slept enough last night but then why did I stay? His grabbing aside I'm still not sure why I wasn't smart enough to wake him up and get away. Instead of honestly answering I deflect with, "Nightmares are perfectly normal to have occasionally."

He frowns, "You had... Well they are normal but that's a big problem. You can't afford to get one again in the arena, Peeta. If you scream in your sleep the Careers will find you."

How I don't gape at him is a miracle in and of itself. Me?! He thinks I had the nightmare? He thinks I went to him for comfort?! I almost laugh at the very idea, almost. The concern for me in his beautiful gray eyes and my desire not to worry him further turn my reply to, "So I'll keep a sock in my mouth. Go sleep."

He throws, "You should start practicing that now, while you have clean socks," over his shoulder as he leaves.

I think he was trying to be funny. He failed, but more important he is trying to be friendly and that I'm more than happy for. I know this isn't forgiveness yet, it's a good step towards it though. Hopefully telling him later it was him having the nightmare won't piss him off too bad. I wouldn't at all; however, he is right about the danger it could cause in the arena and I'd rather he hated my guts than get cornered by Careers.

The roof is nice and the weather has much improved. It is perfect for cloud watching and I have to wonder if my little big brother is doing so back home since its his favorite 'activity'.

Crap on a cake, should not have thought that, now home is on the mind. This won't be like the last years, when we all (except the witch) worked a little extra to send money to the tributes. It won't even be like the year Will was taken. From the moment she was hauled out of the justice building to the train my family was all hands on deck and at full power to try to make extra money to send to her. Any time we weren't being forced to watch my father ran the bakery by himself, my mother did all the deliveries while my brothers and I did any odd job we could find, no matter how nasty. Her family also slaved at anything for coin yet they did something extra. It's bias, but when a merchant child is taken the tribute's family can usually pull small donations from friends, neighbors and associates, sometimes it's enough to buy something meager at the beginning of the games, before the prices increase. For Will, through my mother's use of her many well connected gossipy friends, we were able buy her water once in the beginning of the game and put up half the money for a second water later in the games. Seeing as that arena was a burning desert that was trying to dehydrate her into jerky, water was a wise gift.

I don't think they'll have anything to do this time, they know my plans (for sure the witch blabbed by now), my odds and more saddening they know gifts aren't going to get me back. They might still try to work for extra money, might ask around or just send what they can however I hope they don't. I don't want them to be tight on funds because of me. I especially don't want them to have to go door to door again and receive the looks of pity. It was bad enough when it was Will, they will get it far worse for me. Nothing kills hope or happiness faster and harsher than pity. Sigh. It would be easier on my family if I die the day, it will be over and not dragged out, but that's not my plan. I'm sure by the end of this my family will be drowning in enough murky, thick suffocating pity to resent me.

These thoughts should not be in my head and they are probably making me look like a stupid broody statue too. If I should look like a statue it should be of a serene one because this maybe as peaceful as the Capitol gets. The warm air is sweet with the scent of garden flowers and the sounds of gentle chimes. The sky above is bright and lazily sailing puffy white clouds. I don't feel connected to anything. Yeah that pity thing, or as the case is self pity. I tell myself to suck it up wimp and leave the roof. With all the tension looming inside every inch of the building and without the hunter to focus on I don't trust my mood to stay neutral. My bed fixes that, too bad it can't fix more.

My ears are so trained my head moves before I'm even slightly conscious the result is only the arch of said ear gets the tip of what otherwise was sure to be a hard flick. Creaking one blue orb open to glare at Mr. Abernathy just pulls an amused smirk from him. If he gets drunk tonight he won't find it so funny when I flick both of his. "Is it time for Gale?"

"Nah, he's gone already," he says as if it's nothing.

I don't bolt up yet my guts try too. Damn it! I didn't even get to wish him luck! A low groan of annoyance slips out of my mouth unbidden.

"Come on, get up kiddo," he orders lightly even as his eyes watch, judge and measure me. My mentor is looking for something obviously, no clue as to what it is. "Stretch, dress and make yourself presentable to the prisses. Come on, up, I don't know how much time you have."

That last part does the job of starting a fire under me, but it turns out it's more of a hurry up and wait situation. Wait and endure the torturous agony of anticipation, anxiety and questions. It's been twenty minutes since I woke and he won't tell me how long ago my teammate went down. My body can't stop fidgeting as we sit on the living room couch, gaze trained on the elevator doors. It's either for mercy sake or impatience of his own (likely a mix of the two) that in between his now fewer, shorter calls and his sipping some throat syrup, he tells me what to expect. Nearly all but Crane has been on the Gamemaker panel for years and like they've been showing tributes the same attention they have for the last two and a half days. They are more into their own chatting and the endless feast than us tributes. I have to say I hadn't noticed such, I've been watching my competition not them and besides they always seemed to be looking just fine whenever I did something embarrassing or stupid. At that, my mentor shows he can call me 'idiot' with his face too. Is this a Seam thing?

"The point is, sweetheart, after half a day of watching all of you, then so many tributes before you and you being the last, they don't want to pay attention to you. They want to be done and over with you. You more than any are going to have to be worth watching and command their attention. I wasn't just saying brutality and bloodlust will impress them, they're about the only things that will get most of them to notice you." Here he pauses and does the unexpected. Haymitch leans over, puts his hand on my head and tells me, "You're a good girl, Peeta but you can't be one in there."

I stare, unsure if to remove his hand or to respond. I'm not sure if he just means in the session with the Gamemakers or in the arena or both. It's also unclear what brought this action on. Until a second ago it was assumed he was irritated with me, possibly with some lingering resentment towards my actions. Before I can make a decision about anything the elevator dings and the doors slide open. In the very next heartbeat I'm there.

Gale is filthy, covered in sweat, dirt and speckled in glistening blood. His cheek is red and swelling, there is blood both on his lower lip and creeping down his forehead from somewhere under his hair. His Seam grays are unfocused, his stance is tired, his breathing shallow and he is favoring his left leg. I've seen him worse but I never expected it to be so bad! The day after tomorrow we go into the arena! This is horrible! Just absolutely horrifying!

The words 'are you okay' lodge in my throat because he is obviously not and my brain is so stunned I can't think of better ones. It doesn't matter anyway because in the next second a bloodied, bruised and swelling hand grabs me, yanks me into the elevator just in time for it to close after me. The grime covered man, leaning back heavily into the wall, is even worse! On one side his cheek and brow are so dark and swollen he must hardly be able to see, the other side is caked in mud and bits of grass. One corner of his mouth is ripped and bleeding a crimson little stream down his chin and heavily bruised neck. When his hand releases me it goes to his other, already cradling his ribs and hisses a curse at even his own pressure.

"Mr. Anton?!" I yelp in recognition. I step forward to… to… I don't know what… What could I do to help him now?... and halt.

"Relax Peeta," his low voice is weary, slightly altered with roughness and nothing like the up beat cadence of yesterday. "Gale will be fine."

A knot in my stomach I was unaware of suddenly releases and nearly makes me sag. Don't know why I believe him, didn't really get to inspect the hunter and judging from his tension level he doesn't want me touching him. Perhaps I just really want to believe him, believe Gale is not as bad as he looked. "What about you? Will you be alright?" I ask, incredibly sounding calmer than I am.

He tries to smile however the swelling and the torn part of his mouth won't let him. "I'll always be fine. Don't worry about it. You just focus on you and do your best, no…" He trails off to level his stare on me. "No holding back Peeta."

Just then the inkling that he held back for Gale and took a beating to make him look good blooms and all I can say is thank you, mean it from the bottom of my heart and smile for the both of us. When we reach the basement we part and he hobbles (something is wrong with his left hip and back) away toward the medical room. If he really did help my fellow tribute so much, then this is a breath taking moment and he is a far kinder man than I thought the Capitol was capable of having. Hopefully, someday Gale can repay this man.

The training room is guarded by a pair of Avoxes (noted by their clothes and desolate expressions), one opens the door for me and I step through half expecting a spear or a knife to come flying. Instead what I get is:

"Ah, my fellow Gamemakers, here is Peeta Mellark, twelve's fiery volunteer." Loudly announces Seneca Crane, his aqua orbs fastened to me. Around and behind him is a wall of the purple robed assholes and each seems locked on too. Some are scowling, some are smiling, some are bored, a few are clearly inebriated but only Crane's face is a creepy mixture of perverse enjoyment and bloodlust.

This isn't in the least what I am ready for; never the less I nod deeply and respectfully to him as Effie mentioned last night.

"And you wish to do four stations for us?"

"Yes, Head Gamemaker Crane." I say evenly, again trying to come off as respectful. I can't let what I do hurt Gale again.

"Hn, that may change," he declares then chuckles. It causes a few more laughs from the scowling ones.

Haymitch Abernathy was so wrong…

Part 19 End.

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Side Note: So super sorry for so long with out an update but I've been rethinking the plot of this story, finally decided I do want to deviate quite a bit from the book and had to re-outline this sucker. I thought of taking it down and starting over but that's just too much. Now if I have the skills to truly deviate from the original and let alone well, is another matter. So this is more a heads up warning if you want to continue reading, than a hello and sorry. As to the updates, well they will be slower, but I will let you know if there is to be another huge gap in posting. Again, so sorry for the long wait and oh still looking for a beta! Please!

Oh and happy V-day to all! Have a happy day and a thrilling night! (Yes this counts as my V-day gift. Sorry if you prefer chocolates, flowers or toys.)


	20. Part 20

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 20

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Four "stations," just four stations to get through. Under the weight of their collective stares I don't give into the impulse to touch Madge's pin yet the longing is there. This is the first and the only time we will have direct interaction (on some level) and it's just surprising how creepy they are. It shouldn't be, these are the sick fucks that run this wretched game, but it is surprising.

"Don't waste time, proceed." Crane orders and that seems to be that.

Since he has not said otherwise I go in the order I want. The Knives & Dagger Station is being run by the same brunet instructor so it takes but a few words to get him to set up or throw my targets and I let loose on them. I can't do multiple blades in one hand like D2f, yet I'm equally good with either hand, my accuracy is impeccable, my force sinks the metal in midway up the smooth handles and on a moving target, dummy or small disks, four of my knives will hit their mark at a time. It's all going great, the instructor's cerise gaze is wide with surprise at the skill level and I'm smiling away, until the order to switch to throwing the daggers comes. Crap on a cake. I know Gale practiced some with throwing them, never know what will be on hand in the arena, however I haven't. It is a clear and glaringly stupid oversight. My performance takes a nose dive because of several reasons, they're heavy with thick metal to resist attack, there is crossguard, the leather handles are formed for grip, the whole thing is over a foot long, it's not built to be thrown and the tape on my hands isn't loose enough yet to allow a good grasp. I miss out right my first few targets and it takes too long to get decent hits. Eventually (why are they dragging this out?) I'm off by critical centimeters with my right hand, by whole inches with my left and still can only do one dagger at a time. By the time Crane does call it to an end, it's clear what the price for daring to ask for four stations is, they want to see me struggle, not shine with ease like the Careers.

Scarily the dodging is ordered to be next, I'd have rather put it off for last incase I get injured yet at least I'll be fresh for it. Then the bastard adds the order not to attack the trainer until I'm given say. What The FUCK?! Both middle fingers twitch and it's only with supreme effort does the calm I'm faking stay in place. The words, 'Crane, you're a lousy malevolent rotten boil! You're ostentatious power mad fingernail crud!' are on the tip of my tongue but they have to stay there… for now.

The knife instructor is all too happy to start without warning and hurl his pernicious stockpile at my vitals. Since I'm far from the wall (no bounce back) and he's aiming for my torso and head I very minimalisticly swivel, arc, side step, wiggle and weave between the blades. It keeps him in my sights, avoids me being cut to ribbons by mere inches and pisses right him off. It's nerve wreaking yet it shows my skill (which I'm determined to show!) and it saves me energy which I'll likely need later. It isn't until one whizzing by my temple shears the end off a bit of my bangs and I see the little blonde speckles floating in the air that I think about the rest of my hair. Uh-oh! My next dodge turns into a sprint to hide behind a trident stand for a moment to inspect my braid. Shit! In three places the braid has been nicked shallowly, the new abrupt ends spurt freely from the controlled pattern. Normally I wouldn't care but I'm sure the stylists will. I growl and shove it down the back of my shirt in time to hear a chuckle from above.

He's directly overhead, casually looking down and this time the liquid aquas hold a hint of amusement. 'So the diseased rat dropping thinks this is funny?' I think and though no glare is allowed my lips purse in anger. Before either of us can to anything more the trainer pops up silently next to me, knife swinging for my neck, causing me to duck under and flee on instinct. What The Hell?! But so starts the chase!

He's on my tail and since I can't attack running is my only option. I zip and zigzag through the other stations and around his flying projectiles. This isn't like before, there is something pulse racing about being chased. This being hunted is making my breathing pick up and adrenaline pump. Something about not letting him too close is frazzling my composure and concentration. Pretty soon I feel like a marble ricocheting wildly in box, rebounding from side-to-side and corner-to-corner. This fucker seems to have an endless supply. The lack of focus on the surroundings is how he herds me into the matted section of the gym. There's no cover and it's against the wall. Damn it! I run hard, thrusting my legs down on the soft surface to just get through it then have to jerk and slide under as five knives cut across my path. I jump up to continue my run when five more come, not the steady one after another he's been doing, not at me but in the route in front of me and I realize two things. One, he's been holding back, a lot. Two, he isn't going to let me leave the mats. No I don't want this! I turn, set my feet into high gear and run to escape the mats from the other side, where he'll still have obstacles between him and I. At the last second, just before I'm free five almost skewer me and I have to kick off my front leg ungracefully and land on my ass.

How the hell? I look for him and oh! The creep has found high ground, instead of going after me and maneuvering past several stations and pillars (as he didn't have time for) he's climbed to the highest hurtle on the gauntlet thus circumventing my plan. There he has an unobstructed view of the entire mat section and me. Padded wall behind, neither left nor right an option for me and I doubt he'll let me go forward. He wants this? Fine but I let my glare show there will be hell to pay when it's my turn. It doesn't deter him in the slightest and he sends what feel like a barrage my way. All of me is a target now so I lunge to protect my stomach, twirl to keep my ribs puncture free, wrench to move my shoulder out of the way, hop to have my knee cap remain functional, spin so as not to have my hip butchered, arch my neck to have it stay in one piece, jerk my arms from harm, yank my feet from potential impalement and dive to save my life. All that is good, is essential yet he is definitely holding back less. My clothes have slices appearing on them and every few blades my skin burns and strings with a shallow cut. The wounds aren't deep enough to really bleed so I don't let them slow me down worse yet with each new one my temper is steadily rising. I'm quicker on the hard floor but at least the mats and the wall don't let the knives bounce back at me, they get stuck in the padding. It's a trade off, I loose speed in the cushy surface yet I don't have to double dodge. Too soon the trainer sees my trick and begins throwing more knives randomly, littering the mats, imbedding them with the blades and making it impossible to move!

Just when I think of charging forward anyway the firing stops for a brief second and I look up to see him being handed more knives from an Avox. It's then that I notice the Avoxes around the room, diligently clearing up the embedded knives and collecting them for him. So there is a finite amount! Yet my panic brain reminds me there no real space to dodge now so… An idea blooms, I can't attack him but… When the next blade comes I snatch up a knife by my heel and send it flying. There's a high pitch cling of metal meeting metal in the air then a stunned silence as his ricochets into a pillar and mine drops to the floor. I have to admit the glare of triumph and glee I send him is by no means pleasant so it's understandable to see him stiffen. He shakes it off like water on a wet hen and so starts his second barrage.

Now is nothing like the first time, for each of his mine meets it. Sure it's hard to track the quick silver in the air, to judge the velocity and precise direction however I am very much properly motivated! Even as my eyes start to burn, longing to blink, as a small part of me prays that the drop of sweat running down my forehead won't trickle in and blur my vision, a grin is starting to develop on my face. I'm not dodging any more, I'm not running any longer and most importantly that sensation of being prey is lifting, which lets my focus refine. It takes only a short time for me to learn by feel how much or how little force to use to counter his projectiles so that they don't fly away. This means all the weapons drop between him and I, in the danger zone, where no Avox seems willing to go collect. He is going to run out but not me. When the number of embedded sharps grows scarce I just return to dodging and he seems to happily (stupidly) fill them back up. The grunted curse he lets out as he realizes too late makes me giggle.

That… maybe was too far… His face contorts into a hot red, nasty scowl and he stops holding back all together. Five shot from him at a time, three from his right and two from his left but my max is four so I have to weave around that last one blade and throw constantly. The off set in the time disparity in his single throws verse my multiple ones is made up by him seeming to have to put his knives very specifically in his hands for accuracy. Anyway, the pile of metal on the floor, clinking and clanging with each new addition is growing and this 'fight' coming to a close. 'And with it, his demise, the annoying fucker,' my mind thinks then supplies me with a plethora of lovely, violent images on just how to do him in.

The Gamemakers must sense that too because Crane abruptly lets out one beautiful, glorious word; "Attack."

Don't have to tell me twice! A smile splits my face and it's the only warning I give. Immediately I switch to firing at him, let's see how well this asshole fares! While he teeters and totters I grab three knives from the mat and run for cover, it's less useful now, with his high angle and the knowledge that I'm am coming for him makes my path limited but oh well! From cover to cover I move, following the curve of obstacles to my final target however he has chosen well tactically and there is nothing around that part of the Gauntlet. One pause for a deep breath and a second of my blood pounding in my ears, then I make a break for it, send two of my knives at him with the third kept in hand to block any incoming weapons I can't afford to duck or can't out run. I reach the base of the hurtle, collapse on the mat there, dig my fingers in and heave with all my strength. There is a roaring rip as it comes loose and as I haul the huge weighty pad up over my head I get the pleasure of seeing his eyes bulge in surprise while the rest of him freezes. I chuck it at him and though the satisfying double smacks of first impact then landing are great, now is not the time to indulge. I round on his splayed form, snatch up the mat and bring it down on him like an all-mighty flyswatter! Slam once! Slam twice! Slam thrice! And a fourth just for good measure and because I'm that angry! When I lift up all of his visible skin is as red as a freshly spanked bottom and he groans weakly.

The sound is quickly covered by a few laughs bursting forth. I guess that he does appear a bit funny however a look up to them eliminates any mirth I have. The drunk ones are laughing, maybe two or three are smiling but the vast majority look agitated and expectant, Head Gamemaker included. Haymitch's words come back to me and I realize they are waiting for something violent, some action of ruthless sadism. They don't understand the force I've actually inflicted on this instructor (it's pain and fear that more moving will increase it that keeps him still) and they demand the advantage be taken so more harm can be done to him.

It makes me sick. I've won, I've incapacitated him, true not as violently as even I was thinking about moments ago yet this is not the arena so what more do they want? Didn't they see my determination and glee at taking him down? It just must not be enough for them and that disgusts me. I want to walk away, go to the weight station and simply go on with my tasks… however it's not only me relying on my score. The image of Hawthorne's face, the fear he had this morning flashes before my eyes. Now is the time to change myself or not at all.

My feet take me over to the beaten man. I move to stand over him, feet on either side of his ribs and he flinches then flinches again and again in tremors of pain. This will not be like on the train; I need to make him scream. It does no good to be a wishy-washy wimp and let him tense more, that will just increase the sensation of this. I rise to my tiptoes, set my elbows then drop, my full falling weight coming down in one point on each of his biceps and he screams! Agony rips out of his throat and the guttural sound resonates in this huge space. I leap away from him as his body almost starts to convulse with the level of suffering his brain doesn't know how to deal with.

Nausea creeps into my gut as his screams continue and I'd like nothing more than to punch his lights out, send him into oblivion yet that's not an option. Though the Gamermakers would love the extra violence, he's already fallen, taken four hits to the head, might have a concussion already and putting him under could be life threatening. The only thing to do now is walk away, impassively face the robed pestilence controlling this session and wait for further instruction. I'm not hurting him further and I know just by doing this it's defying them however it's not in me to do more. Finally, damn finally a medical team comes out, they shot something into each of his shoulders that quiets him to harsh panting then load him on a stretcher to carry him out. Just before the door he starts spewing obscenities at me. I don't so much as twitch but each word feels like a lash across my back so I cling to Gale's face in my mind's eye.

When there is silence I dare to look up at Crane, not the others, only him. He has this measuring look on his face and I can't begin to know what is going on in that twisted melon of his (not that I want to). It takes much more effort to have my face and body devoid of expression then I really have to spend but he takes so long in looking at me. One of the purple louses next to him coughs discretely, it gets him to look up and around at his cohorts. "As soon as the mats are reset you fight."

The focus of having my face blank is the only thing that lets my eyebrows stay in place (instead of shoved into my hairline). He wants me to do nothing while we wait for the Avoxes to finish? My blues move to them, scurrying and scrambling to do so, but the mats are large and weighty, they've almost got the majority of the ruined ones out of the way though have yet to start placing a single new one.

I don't understand what we are waiting for, yes the recovery time is nice, yes it's nice not to strain my arms in going from throwing knives to throwing weights however I sincerely doubt this is for my benefit. A glance up shows even the others are confused on this pause… until they spot something over my head on the other side of the room and smile.

A woman is there; a medium sized, pissed off familiar looking brunette. She is glaring at me like she plans to demolish my ass into grass. Guess she's the hand-to-hand combat trainer I'm going to face, but it's odd because I remember all of them being men and I think she was one of the three in charge of the unpopular Savate Station. She looks (aside from enraged) a bit beat up and I have to wonder who did it? That makes me wonder about Mr. Anton, was it Gale that beat him up or was it someone else? Logically it would be better if it was my teammate that did all that damage. It would show he is strong and fierce while other tributes are not. However part of me hopes he didn't hurt Mr. Anton so, the man is too patient, too kind an instructor for me to wish it was Gale that hurt him. Yet that makes me curious as to who hurt her? Who was good enough to land those bruising blows on her face, neck and arms? Are the fires in her rosy eyes from a drive not to be defeated again? Un, no, it's not that… though again there's a sort of familiarity in her fury. As I look at her, her face contorts into a scowl and goes bright red, her anger seeming to intensify with this waiting and staring. Wait, that face, pink irises and light brown hair! Holy Burnt Bagels! She's his sister! And she looks exactly like him. She's his older sister and it is a sibling's burning hate that she has for me!

I look to Crane mentally asking, 'Her?! The order is to fight Her? But she wants to tear me into ity-bity-bits!' yet he just seems overly pleased with his wretched self. That's that then, he planned this and is looking forward to this fight. There is no arguing with this cur so I refuse to look at him again. Oh, I'll still have to obey but if he just wants to send me through the grinder of a vengeful fighter I'll acknowledge him the least I can.

By the time the mats are ready she is practically foaming at the mouth. Likely her brother as a knife throwing instructor doesn't get a lot of people creaming him, until now. When permission to start is finally granted he's waited so long she's staring to glare at him too. She charges in much faster than I expect, so it's instinct that brings my arms up to block her gloved double punch. Immediately I know her punches won't be a problem for me yet just as I get set to return the favor she pivots and kicks out my front weight bearing leg. The kick is so hard the second before landing on my back my feet fly above me. The crash blows the air out of my lungs so I can't cry out at the pain in the back of my calf and ankle tendon. The chance to collect my breath isn't even an option because already she's lifted her big booted foot up high to bring it down on my face. I roll and she follows, stomping after my head. This goes on until my braid comes loose and gets nailed under her shoe. As she raises her free foot I swing blindly and catch her standing shin. Pain lights up between the knuckles that tagged the bone but she screams and is knocked on her rear so it's worth it.

We spring up at the same instant and she again tries that double hit back leg sweep on my same leg. It's keeps throbbing so I stumble back out of range and hold back a grimace. That kick was really something and kicking seems her specialty as she launches into a series of high round house and reverse round house kicks, driving me back and forcing me on the defensive. My arms, mainly elbows and forearms take the hits (my arm bones are killing me! Damn those hard ass boots!) and it's the still tight tape sparing my wrists and hands from fracture. The strikes are just coming in from all directions, I've never faced any one that moves as much as her. She's barely in one place for a second, just enough to attack then move.

Out of frustration I try to catch her pounding feet yet she pulls back, pivots to change the angle of her attack or bends and tries to throat punch me while my hands are occupied. This bitch is relentless but she's not faster so I move to simply swatting the kicks away. It stings; there is either hard plastic or metal under the leather and stiff pointy spikes on the surface, however it lets me drive her back. Suddenly she switches to a low kick straight to my slightly raised thigh, the thick hard heel slams into the muscle, reverberates in the bone and wrenches at the joint. I scream and fall even as I thank frosting my leg wasn't planted and took the full impact of what could have been. Although my muscle is hollering unholy hurt at me, it's my knee that could have been taken out.

Again she is on me to try to stomp me into mush however this time I grab her foot and yank like hell! Even as she falls she sends a second kick with her free limb that I have to duck. Still the whack of the landing gives me time to set up a knee bar. She flails yet I can't keep her in the straight leg bar as my thigh protests too much to hold. Damn, damn, damn it!

She wriggles away quickly after that; still this is the first bit of good news since she was selected. She doesn't know how to deal with wrestling and grappling moves. I can't help the predatory grin that knowledge gives me. That in mind I rush her, take a hard one to my shoulder and try to get in her guard. She doesn't let me, spins and sneaks in a strike to my chest and kicks away. I puff and huff (and probably have a nasty heel print) however this time I have the free moments to; she doesn't want me near. Smirk.

After that she is hopping, side stepping and dancing around me more than ever. She's not even attacking, just never staying long enough for me to whack her full on. Jabs and crosses are useless, wide haymakers and recovering back fist are only glancing her (though I know they hurt some because she tenses after each one). But still, it's her brother all over again, with her leading me where she wants to go. That we aren't leaving the mats and merely ping-ponging back and forth across them is doubly annoying! Aarrah! Pick a spot bitch!

It isn't clear until several minutes later and then it's been there, done that, why do it again? This time as she leads we are far closer to the corner and the walls. It doesn't make sense for her to trap herself so this is all a long set up. Oh this crafty hag! She feints, I go after her and I end up facing the corner. Instantly I slam my hands into the wall, push and deliver a back kick that could make a mule proud! It rams into her stomach, launches her off those pesky feet and back. She's not the only one with strong legs.

She is curled in a ball on the floor, an odd mix of still painful still and writhing for air. She looks utterly vulnerable, a strike to the temple now would put her down and I move to do just that. I swing, and surprisingly she blocks with her fist. It doesn't matter, mine is hard enough to carry through and smash both our fists into her face. Uhn, that cheek is going to swell nasty. A second punch, this time to her temple, leaves her limp.

It's over, she's out, they can't ask me to hurt her more cause she won't feel it and maybe I should have waited for her to get up so I could have made a better showing but oh well, it's over. It's a relief I won't have to hurt her like her brother and I tell myself to focus on that as a nagging bit of doubt whispers of how a low score it no help. I sigh twice, pray I'm allowed to go throw weights now and it's almost a relief when the medical team comes out to collect her.

Almost, because they don't come out alone. With them comes another trainer. He's tall, well muscled, long limbed and another Savate instructor if those same boots are anything to go by.

So this is what the Gamemakers are really like. This is more then about trained score then, this is about hurting me before the arena, before I have to go live on camera with Flickerman. Can a single finger mean that much too them? They don't do this to the Careers right? I've seen them training with the Hand-to-hand combat instructors, D1m and D2m could likely handle this but the others really aren't any better than me, at least this. All the Careers are more weapon specialists (or are attempting to be) so why put me through the wringer of two?

I don't sigh, growl or groan, just drop into position. Though I'm tempted, to just turn and give a 'what the hell?' face to Crane I stick with my decision and think of my promise to do anything to help Gale. Maybe there can be some middle ground?

Part 20 End.

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Side Note: Double posting, so please go forward for part 21. Hope you enjoy it! Oh and as always, still looking for a beta. Sigh.


	21. Part 21

_**An Unlikely Pair**_

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 21

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As she is carted out he does some stretching and warm up punches and kicks. Why he didn't do them away from my view is a mystery yet I'm appreciative. He's hurt already; it shows in his slowness, his refusal to bend his left elbow and knee past a certain point and the way he is curling his body a bit over his right ribs. When he settles into his ready stance he has this resigned look to his face and jaded weariness in his onyx eyes.

The command to fight doesn't do anything spur him on; never the less, I attack with speed. He blocks, diverts, blocks, dodges and barely punches/kicks back at all (the few he does hurt quite a bit!). He's not bouncing around like she was, in fact he's not anything like her. He's really good, the ease and flow of his motions speak of years of skill but he's mainly defending, keeping me from hurting him more. I don't understand this mercy he's showing me (this is his job, he might have to answer to the purple robed asshole squad above), however, I'll take it. I charge forward in low, when he punches, I knock his arms up and go for his shoulders with both hands. I pull him forward and down, off balance and feet spread, then when I feel his hands on my shoulders, trying to push me away I slip down. My knee penetrates his footing, my shoulder slams into his middle, I grab his uninjured knee, drive into him forcing him up off his feet, press into his calf and bring him down. He grunts, both from his back colliding with the mat and my shoulder shoving further into his middle.

Instantly after he tries to scramble and get up, more urgently and with vigor that was not there a heart beat ago. I don't let him. The one way he is like her; he's not a ground fighter. In short order I'm behind him and under him, not a great position but perfect for what I want. I get him in a chokehold, his chin inline with my elbow around his neck and flex, squeezing off blood flow to his head. He struggles violently for a split second yet then the effect set in and he quickly goes from still to all out limp. Timing carefully I only release when it's sure he'll be under.

It should be really over now. Though a little more sore, I'm no more damaged than I was before him. After getting up (he's breathing but has not woken up, likely won't for a bit) I face the assembly of pricks but don't look up at them. Just one glance at this moment will form an irrepressible scowl and perhaps a few choice words.

Here is the middle ground my promise to Hawthorne enforces, I get nice clean knockouts and the price is no venting my feelings out on the group above. So I stand still, quietly awaiting their wishes as the medical team returns for him. It should be a good thing to get the go ahead for the Weights Station, a sense of foreboding is all that comes from it.

I go over and lacking all preamble, toss the closest one. It wasn't heavy so the two handed grip sent it clear across the room. The handled ball clangs noisily and rolls until it ends with the number 45 lbs facing up. It's unclear if the weights are meant to be tossed because there is no target area and the weights go from 2 to 170. Oh well. Still ignoring them I grab a 90 pound weight, launch it and follow up with a 135 one. Unlike the first two, the last only goes decently far. 140, 145, 150 pounds get lobed and land with decreasing distance. I'm hesitant to go up to 155. The 150 lbs was heavy and it's very different throwing them then just picking them up. Hope they're satisfied with just lifting because that's all I do with the rest of them. A sprain or strain this close to the arena I just can't afford. Once the 170 is returned to proper place I cannot help but hope we're done. Surely they're simply bored of me by now. There is this one thing I could do, that Mr. Abernathy suggested and it might be great… or it might be an opening to bring in another trainer. I stand coolly, waiting for dismissal until:

"Your mentor, wrote of one more skill with the weights, before he changed your program. What was it Miss Mellark?"

That makes me jerk up automatically, was it Haymitch (bastard!) who set up my session? The question flies out of my mind when I see there is less than half of the original Gamemakers there and most of the remaining ones are eating, dozing or chatting. What the flipping Fuck?! Crane and three others are the solitary members watching me and so jarring it's like taking a right cross between the eyes.

I… I've never felt so small or insignificant before. Never this little; I rock backwards with the feeling, both with the newness and just the horrid sensation. This is not comparable to home, there I was at least a person, this… this feels more along the lines of a thing or animal. No less than animal or object, all animals and resources are scares in twelve so they all hold value. To them I hold none. To the ones that left I am nothing and to the ones that stayed I'm barely above that. My actions, my struggles and my life mean Nothing to them. I'm so irrelevant to the majority of them they couldn't even stay to do their jobs of watching me and have already written me off. A shiver of cold and nausea runs through my guts. I knew, I knew to the Capitol in general and to the government of Panem I was as good as dust to them, as all the citizens of the higher districts know, but I've never known it from real, in person, people. I've never had such abuse done to my face.

Part of me (a part not reeling in shock), wants to spit, curse and beat the ever loving crap out of them. Wants to let lose this sudden rage and shake them until they see that I have value, my district's people have value, that life has value! The rest just wants to flee, simply walk away from these monsters for whom life is so cheap and then take a shower to wash away the metaphorical stink of them. I can't do either, for Gale I can't do either. For the hunter I force my limbs stiff, push down a swirling orb of malice in my heart, glare at the floor and say levelly; "The two and five pound weights, I can turn them into projectiles. I can hit targets or practice dummies if you would like."

Immediately that gets a response, "Head Crane, you can't, this has run on long enough. Call it a night already." Whines an older woman, all that face-pulling surgery isn't hiding it.

"Yes, this is cutting deeply into my festivity time, the sponsors and the feasts are calling." Snorts an overly porky man (man? woman? thing?) dyed a rosy tangerine color, if he(?) were just a bit more light pink, with that up turned nose…

"Don't you want to see something new?" asks a much older man, his white hair likely real and his ruby red teeth hopefully aren't. "It's so rare to see something new. That last boy, his rope trap, now that was exciting."

Before a debate can start up Head Gamemaker Crane turns around to them, quashes it with a glare and commands, "Eight of you may leave, decide amongst yourselves quietly, the rest must stay." He returns to looking at me then and gives no mind to the many glares at his back. In the near silence that follows eight happily trot away and the rest slump more in their seats.

All except the weird teeth guy (at least he noticed Hawthorne) are on my shit list and I'd like nothing more than to peg them with a stone from the Slingshot station. Wish Crane had let them go, not like I want the callus freaks around if they can't be bothered with the likes of me. 'For Gale,' repeats like mantra in my mind, making me halt until I have the okay to take some weights (four each of the 2s and 5s) back to the knives station and then find out it's been taken down. There's no one there to manage it but the Avoxes who are rushing to set it back up again. Guess all the trainers have left by now. So why the hell is he making me do this?! While I wait for the targets and dummies to be pulled out of the supply closet and be put in place I unscrew the bolts holding the handles on, making them real balls. They are just a bit bigger than the baseballs back home, but oh to take a hit with these would hurt! That don't I turn to the ever loosening wrapping on my hands and peel it off.

Finally when it's all set I grab a 2, tell the Avoxes to clear out and pitch for the bullseye on a target board. With a loud crack the weight shoots through the board and thumps when it hits the padded wall behind. The wide eyes of the Avoxes are almost amusing, until they start tinting with fear. That's right, if there are no trainers, it could be one of them the Gamemakers label as my human target. I fervently hope it does not come to that. I go through the target one by one, putting wholes through the bullseyes and smashing the flying targets with the 2s, knocking heads and limbs off the manikins with the 5s. My arms are staring to burn, but still the order to stop doesn't come. A while later the burn is changing to an ache however I refuse to ask for a cease from them; pride and logic won't allow it. It is not until a young man rushes in with a gym bag over shoulder that I get to stop. Oh no…

"Apologies Head Gamemaker, but I seem to be the only one on hand and I was leaving until a minute ago." He huffs a bit breathlessly. "If you'll allow me a bit to warm up I'll ready to go."

I recognize him, he's the trainer of the Fire Making station (his metallic gold hair and silver eyebrows stood out amongst the other normal instructors), so what is he doing here now? Surely it's not for fire skills? And in those Capitol clothes, of zigzagging streaks of electric blue and white defiantly isn't the uniform he was wearing the first day.

He gets a nod in response. Disappointingly he does not go over to his dismantled station and instead begins to stretch.

Crap on a cake, he really is my target. I purse my lips and watch his form; he's very flexible, maybe more than me. Then he stands on one foot and brings his other straight up along side his body, straight into the air. I gasp, snap my view away and flush horribly. Those pants are very tight and very thin and he doesn't seem to like jockstraps or underwear. "You need to change pants!" I cry out.

"What?" He says.

Why the hell does he sound so surprised? Shouldn't it be obvious? I glance, nope he's just switched to his other foot, and turn sideways so that he's only in the outer limits of my peripheral vision. I can feel the heat bleeding from my face down my neck and up my ears! "Go change pants or put some underwear on!" I half bark half order. What the hell is he doing, coming here like that?

From above a chorus of laughs starts, I inadvertently turned towards them so they can see my crimson blush. They apparently find modesty and common propriety funny, the twisted bastards. So life is cheap but humiliation is platinum?

Slowly relinquishing his obscene display the dude stands normally (with those pants it's not much better) and ask, " Are… Aren't you like around 16?" One silver brow is raised up and he scopes me out like I'm the one that's weird. Of all the gall!

I level a glare at his eyes specifically then turn away again, "What's your point? That doesn't stop you from going and changing."

Now this dude just looks boggled and the degenerates up there are laughing harder. How the hell did it get to this!? Why is this so funny to those bent aberrations of the human species?!

Though I am on the wrestling team I never really had to deal with… this situation before. Not that I hadn't seen it happen before. My big brother started wrestling when he was 14, so for two years my little big brother and I watched him on the team with envy, just waiting until we were old enough. When little big brother joined it was a smooth transition from eager spectator (and at home practice dummy) to full team member and I was suck waiting two more years by myself (not really by myself as it was then my turn to be the practice dummy). Anyway, situations of lack of under clothes and worse… 'male excitement'… have been happening around me be since I was 10. Those happenings just never happened to me. My big brothers, bless their hearts, had a very strict 'talk' and a harsher 'demonstration' with all the guys on the team and everyone looking to join on the day I tried out for the team. They repeated it the day I was approved for the team. Not even any of the fathers of the guys on the team complained, not when my father showed up to my first practice to cheer me on (so embarrassing then, so heartwarming now). Nobody on the team is allowed to not wear their proper layers, nobody is allowed to try any 'funny business' with me, definitely no male excitement pertaining to me in anyway (the ones that are interested in guys save that for each other) and they all have to call me Mellark so they remember whose family I belong to. Yes, it's special treatment, yes they kind of resent me for it but I'm grateful for it and I'm strong enough to shut up any individual that has a problem with it.

No family here to back me up now however these fucks can't really want to watch his junk flail around, right?

"Miss Mellark," there is far too much unholy delight in those light greenish-blues, "are you suggesting you will forfeit this station if the instructor does not change into more concealing clothing?" he questions haughtily.

"Ye- Nn- Ma-," I stumble over yes, no, maybe so and my color brightens. I'm sure I could glow in the dark by now. Crap on a cake, forfeiting is not an option but this is just gross! This is unprofessional! I thought there were rules of conduct here, or why else punish me for flipping the finger at all? I pause for a moment, not to weigh my choices, just to read his face. He is trying to hide it from those around him yet he riveted to me, so fervent for my answer he is all but leaning over the balcony edge to hear me. This fiendish supercilious man must be waiting and wanting for me to give him any excuse make this worse for me! I don't know how he could outside of the arena but I sincerely don't want to find out. My overall frustration level increases and I can't help the frown I send him. "No Head Gamemaker Crane, I would never suggest forfeiting."

"Then what are you suggesting?" His voice rings of impatience though his gaze is curious.

Oh goody, another mercurial unstable, morally deranged person. Now one more reason why the Capitol favors the Career districts becomes clear. Creeps like other creeps. 'For Gale, for Gale, for Gale,' my mind chants with stubborn verve. It really is too bad I can't piss him off further, that leaves this jerk trainer, who seems way too amused with this. Him I can vent on and before I can think better of it my mouth goes, "I'm suggesting that if he doesn't at least ask you to go put some decency on, I'm going to throw every weight right there until there ain't nothing left to display!"

Oops. Oh Hawthorne, I'm sooo sorry! I tense harshly, waiting for the hammer to fall.

The trainer squawks, most of the men balk, the women's reaction is more mixed and Crane pervertedly looks enthralled. There is more wrong with him than previously estimate however, for whatever whimsical reason instead of going after me for shooting my mouth off (spectacularly!) he just looks to the perv #2 and cocks an eyebrow. At that all muscles relax a bit too much and I wobble a tad. 'There won't be repercussions for Gale! There won't be repercussions for Gale!' my thoughts cheer! I'm not naive enough to think I'll get anything above a two now, yet I take that look to mean there won't be repercussions for Gale, so it's fine. Yes I very much wanted to help, but as I seem to be a hinder to him in all ways I'll take not harming his odds.

The golden haired asswipe gives me such a glare but I could careless and he bites out, "May I please be excused for a moment more to change Head Gamemaker?"

That is music to my ears, watching him schlep his bag and head for the doors is even better. It calms me and lets me realize sticking the handles back on the weights might be a good idea. He's back too soon for my tastes, only the two lbs weights are done and he's only changed his lower half (jock evident), oh well. Actually, now that he's properly dressed everything is serious again and I don't want to hurt him… um… not hurt him with a hard, solid metal ball that is.

It's not my choice so when the decree comes to start and he runs for cover I go after him. I toss one of the four at his shoulder and it misses sliver as he turns the corner behind an weapons stand. Just as I turn the same corner to follow something long flies at me. On instinct I duck it and then the second that comes after. When no more come (and he's made his escape) I breathe again. Staffs! They are wooden staffs, not spears. Shit that fucking startled me. Although they would have hurt on impact, they wouldn't have impaled me. I take one more lungful then go after him at full speed! There isn't much equipment left up (when did the Avoxes to all this?) so he sticks to knocking over stands in my way. It does no good, I clip him once in the thigh and once in shoulder. Discretely I retrieve each weight each time after I hit him, it gives him a few seconds to shake off the pain. Despite what the Gamemakers obviously want he's not going to end up a pile of broken bones and head trauma. To take him down cleanly I'll have to get close enough to force him in another chokehold. I get in two more hits, one to his other thigh and one to his hip and dodge a bow (not the arrows), a coil of rope, a dead insect case (Ew! Ew! Ew!) and a poorly thrown yet huge mace in return. As I gather my weight he dives for the Stealth station and disappears in the thick of it. Oh thank frosting! I can take him down without prying eyes. I crash in right after him, drop the weights once it's thick enough and commence to hunt him down for real.

Damn it, I'm making too much noise and he's making none. Going in slow and stealthy isn't possible, don't have time to be quiet, can't give him the chance to slip away. That being the case it isn't surprising I don't hear him coming over my own sounds and take the tackle to the back full on. We hit the dirt, twigs, bushes and tree trunks in a tumble on limbs. Instantly I switch to my wrestling and find out he's even bend-i-er than me. This is turning into a pain in the ass, with him wriggling and contorting himself. It also does not help being poked everywhere by nature and getting dirt ground into my knife cuts (cause it stings!). When a random stick digs into one of my deepest cuts I've had enough and haul him up. As the weaker party, he's got no option but to follow. I get behind him and manhandle my way into wrapping my arm around his neck; however, before I can flex his hands go somewhere unexpected. I squawk at the feel of two hands reaching back and squeezing handfuls of my rear then instantly shove him away. Where in this crap bowl of a world did that come from? I look uncertainly at his back and when he turns with a too wide smirk on his face I know he did that on purpose to get that very response. My face heats in upset and I hiss, "You perverted louse!"

He shrugs like it wasn't anything and warns, "Next time you come at me I'll grab your boobs."

My jaw literally drops and I gap at him in total disbelief. Who… Who in their right mind fights like that? That's not real fighting, that's being a pervert! I try to get my mouth to say that yet it merely sputters and slurs awkwardly over sounds.

The letch takes this as an opportunity to leer and add, "Then again, maybe you want me to?"

This time I don't so much as yelp as my cheeks heat enough to start a fire. This time I color in anger. It clicks, this is his way of fighting dirty. He wants dirty? He'll get real dirty! In half a blink I drop, grab a fist full of dirt and toss it in his eyes. He roars back, trying to clear it but I cock back my fist and deck him full on. He lands already KO'ed. Although it's not the near my hardest punch it was one of the most deserved! Plus he will be feeling that for a while.

Seeing as I'm feeling particularly uncharitable and still a good deal disgusted at the moment I grab his forearm and drag him out of the station by it. If he gets a bit scrapped and the dirt and grass stains really get rubbed in, too damn bad. This spares me anymore bodily contact and the only reason I don't leave him there is to spare the poor clean up crew from going in after him.

When I get out of the supposed privacy of the stealth course it's to half of the scum watching me and the other half watching a continuous replay of me throwing dirt on a large screen hanging from the ceiling. They saw everything and I didn't even notice the cameras, oh crap on a crap cake. Yep, definitely not getting above a two, but maybe, hopefully they still won't hurt my teammate. This time I fidget as I await the verdict and it seems the pause is made purposefully longer than it has any right to be.

Crane tilts his head. He, like a few others, is a mix of amused (again) and something indiscernible. "Your session is over Miss Mellark. You are dismissed."

Oh thank frosting it's over! Truly and completely over! I nod once and make a beeline for the exit. The rest is a blur until I'm slumping against the wall of the elevator as the doors close. Slumping turns into sliding and then to settling on the floor as my legs refuse to obey and won't support me. So tired! Why am I so so so tired?! As my muscles loosen all the hurts, aches and pains take this moment to make themselves known. Ow, ow ouch! Oh god, even my eyelids feel achy, how's that possible? I close them for a second and what feels like exactly half a second later small hands are shaking my shoulders.

I know these hands so I don't startle to seeing the redheaded Avox crouching over me, face the picture of worry. Yeah, this isn't the best place for a nap. It's a struggle to get up and more so to walk, my body does not want to listen to me. Then she's there, tucked under my arm, taking some of my weight onto her petite form. She's helping me? She is and I can only be grateful. "Thank you," I say sincerely, suddenly choked up.

I don't understand why she is being so kind as to help me, but her kindness feels so good right now. That dark orb in my heart, that up until this moment was wreathing and riled, settles and dissipates a good bunch. Breathing becomes easier and my senses grow both sharper and blurred. I distinctly feel how tried my body is as it returns to my command however it's my head that is so muddled. It's confusing and a new sensation that I don't have a comparison for.

When we reach my bedroom (yes!) there is something unexpected there (no, damn it, just no!). Gale is in my bed, over my covers, face down, out for the count, oblivious to the world and to people who need their damn bed! With energy that springs from unknown sources I lumber over to him at double speed (which not as fast as a lazy stroll) and am socked in the nose at the halfway point!

Uhg! It reeks! Dear god of delirium, can you fake smells? Nope, didn't think so. Grossness, it's got to be Hawthorne because the rank stank is of sweaty-boy/ripe man stench. It's a smell I know too well (thanks so much father, bros and my team) and avoid when at all possible. Damn it, and now he's ruining my bed with it!

I glare at his stupid slumbering form. I held my tongue back for him, I changed myself for him, I swallowed my pride and rage for him and this is what he does now? He sleeps in my bed! He-

The absurdity of my own thoughts hit me and I sag. Am I honestly getting mad at him for sleeping? He can't help it if he's tired and he worked up a potent sweat. Didn't I even invite him to use my bed earlier (feels so long ago)? Sigh. I guess I'm more tired and muddled than I thought.

Briefly I debate the pros and cons of going to his room and making it as rank as I must smell, then shove him out of the middle to take a side of my bed. After all, mime is paradise. He half wakes briefly but the Avox is there the next heart beat, running her fingers through his dirty hair, resetting the three ice bags (how did I miss those? So tired) and soothing him back into the land of the unconscious.

'She really is kind,' is the last thought that goes through my mind as I settle into cushy, warm comfort.

Part 21 End.

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Side Note: Double posting so please see part 20 if you somehow got here without reading it first. Hope you enjoy it! Oh and as always, still looking for a beta. Sigh.


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